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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775660">If You Ever Wanna Be In Love (I'll Come Around)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79'>doctorbuffypotterlock79</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>If You Ever Wanna Be In Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dinosaurs, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, Library worker v and museum worker b, Mild Angst, Pining, Slow Burn, assorted dumbassery, fake dating au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:27:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mix-up at work leads to Vanessa pretending she has a wife, she uses this fake wife to get out of work events. But when she runs out of excuses and needs a wife for a party, Vanessa finds herself turning to Nina's friend Brooke, who just so happens to need a fake girlfriend.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>If You Ever Wanna Be In Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Doing a fake dating au has been in my head for a while, but I could never come up with a solid idea. I eventually came up with this and I hope you like! Thank you as always to Writ for supporting this idea and betaing for me! </p><p>Your comments and feedback really mean a lot to me, and it would be great if you could leave some for this chapter!</p><p>Title from If You Ever Wanna Be In Love by James Bay.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all starts with a ring. </p><p>Vanessa has a <i>thing</i> for thrift shops. She goes every Saturday, teetering between racks stuffed with clothes and shelves overflowing with pictures and books and tea cups, random odds and ends that she can’t help but find charming. Silky always calls it junk, but Vanessa snatched her frog salt and pepper shakers from one of those shelves, and those are the pride of her kitchen, thank you very much. </p><p>Part of her likes the excitement, the thrill of turning shirts over and coming face-to-face with the most amazing or weirdest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s like looking for treasure, and maybe it reminds her of the pirate phase she had as a kid, digging for gold in the sandbox, pirate hat perched on her curls and plastic sword dangling from her hip. </p><p>And if thrift shopping is a treasure hunt, the day she finds the rings is a definite jackpot. Two simple gold rings on a tray loaded with jewelry, including squirrel earrings that will haunt Vanessa’s nightmares. It’s only two dollars for the set, so she doubts they’re real, but they look good, and who can’t use more rings? One is too big for her, but the other fits perfectly, almost like it was lying on that tray for her finger exactly, eager for its next home. It’s another thing she likes about thrift shops--the chance of it all, whatever has to align in the world for that item to end up at the shop, for her to find it before someone else. It gives her a cozy, warm-blanket feeling, like she’s carrying on the history of these items, giving them a second life. Like maybe their magic would rub off on her life. </p><p>Or maybe she just gets too philosophical about thrift shops. </p><p>---</p><p>“I’m just saying, you’d be prettier if you smiled more--”</p><p>Vanessa inwardly rolls her eyes, burning with rage from this specific brand of children’s room torture: creepy men bringing their children and grandchildren inside and using the opportunity to harass the library staff. </p><p>The children’s room is supposed to be happy, with a colorful rug and an overflowing toy box and giant posters of books above the computer corner. There’s color everywhere, from the books on display to the neon green armchairs to the construction paper rainbow above the windows, but the man in front of her sucks up the joy and color like a tornado: at least twice her age, with a gray mullet and a bushy mustache littered with crumbs. And he has the <i>nerve</i> to tell her she’d be prettier if she smiled. Sweet Jesus.</p><p>Vanessa brushes the hair off her face and flashes the biggest smile she can muster, because they’re not allowed to yell at patrons and that’s the only thing that will hold back her scream. “Sir, do you have a question? We need the desk open for patrons who need help.”</p><p>His eyes move to her hand, her thrift shop ring glittering in the light, and he freezes, mouth open. “Oh, no--sorry, miss.” He walks away and Vanessa breathes a sigh of relief tinged with confusion. Their library-mandated words from the sexual harassment workshop never work. </p><p>“You okay?” A’keria asks quietly, a knowing look in her eyes. The creepy patrons are something they’ve all had to deal with, checking on each other afterwards just part of the routine. </p><p>“You can take a break,” Yvie offers. </p><p>Vanessa shakes her head. “I’m okay. I just--he stopped so fast. What do you think happened?”</p><p>“He was looking at your ring,” A’keria points out. “Maybe he thinks you’re married.”</p><p>Of course, Vanessa thinks. Of course men would respect a fake ring that they think hints at another man before they would respect <i>her</i>. </p><p>A’keria comes to the same conclusion and smiles sadly. “It’s awful it has to be like this, doesn’t it? Maybe you’re better off with that ring. Maybe they’ll stop.”</p><p>Vanessa shrugs. It’s worth trying out, for sure. Maybe she’ll wear it tomorrow and see what happens. If this little ring stops the endless offers of dates and comments on her clothes, she’ll wear it every damn day. </p><p>“Admin,” Yvie hisses. </p><p>Vanessa immediately straightens up. Three white men work in administration, doing the business aspects of the library, all interchangeable down to their balding heads and briefcases, copy-pasted from a businessman stock photo. Paul started recently and makes rounds through the building to see everyone.</p><p>“Everything all right here?” he asks cheerfully. </p><p>Vanessa nods, and notices Paul’s eyes also going to her ring. </p><p>“I didn’t know you were married, Vanessa,” he says. </p><p>Vanessa’s head spins. She could just say it’s a normal ring, but Paul’s made eyes at her before. Might as well keep the lie going, shut him down. “Oh, yeah, I just had to get my ring resized, so that’s why I haven’t been wearing it,” she says, giving herself a mental pat on the back for such a quick lie. </p><p>“Oh,” he says, clearly believing it. Then his face brightens. “Will we meet your husband--”</p><p>“Wife,” Vanessa corrects on reflex. Fake marriage is fine, but fake marriage to a man is where she’s drawing the line. </p><p>“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Will we meet your wife? At the dinner party this week, maybe?”</p><p>Ugh. The dinner party. Since Paul started, he’s had parties or dinners or drinks nearly every week, evenings of sheer boredom with the other library departments. Vanessa has wormed her way out of them with a careful combination of excuses, “prior commitments”, and fake illnesses, but the ring gives her an idea. If she’s run out of excuses for herself, what if she makes her fake wife the excuse? No one will know. </p><p>“I don’t know about this week,” Vanessa says with fake sadness. “My wife hasn’t been feeling well.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry. You take good care of her,” Paul says firmly. “Maybe next time.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Vanessa agrees, slapping high fives with A’keria once he leaves. Maybe this fake ring isn’t so bad.</p><p>---</p><p>Vanessa sticks her face directly in front of the air vent. Not only does it cool her off, but it also drowns out some of the kids yelling, so it’s a win-win. Summer is always a busy time for the library, but especially in the children’s room, where people dump screaming children like a daycare service and all the story-times mock her with their beach themes and kids slam down summer reading program lists to get their prizes. </p><p>Hardly any men have hit on her the last few months, and she knows it’s because of her ring. It’s like a superhero mask, protecting her and warning them not to mess with her. Plus, Vanessa’s been using the wife excuse like a shield. Outdoor party? Oh, my wife has allergies. Sorry I missed dinner, my wife got sick. She’s careful not to give too much away, not to tell any lies about her wife that she’ll get caught in later. Who wants to hear about a coworker's spouse anyway? It works like a charm, and she’s avoided drowning in boredom at staff parties. </p><p>“Vanessa,” Silky and Nina call from the desk. </p><p>Vanessa runs in to see Paul at the desk, talking about the party next week. </p><p>“You have to come to this one, Vanessa, and bring your wife!” he insists. “I still haven’t met her. No excuses,” he teases cheerfully. </p><p>“Oh, sure, uh…” She muddles through excuses, trying to remember what she’s used. Migraine? No, she used that for the Valentine’s party. Stomach bug? No, she used that for the spring party <i>and</i> for drinks last month. At this rate she’ll have to fake her death and move to Mexico. </p><p>“We’ll be there,” she says finally through gritted teeth. </p><p>“Excellent!” Paul shouts. “I can’t wait to meet that wife of yours, Vanessa!”</p><p>Shit. Shit shit shit. </p><p>---</p><p>“What are you gonna do?” A’keria asks as they make their way to the parking lot. </p><p>Vanessa sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll fake my death.”</p><p>“I know a guy, if you really want to,” Yvie says, and Vanessa doesn’t think she’s joking. </p><p>“Put an ad online asking someone to be your fake wife for a night,” Silky suggests.</p><p>“Something that won’t get me arrested or murdered, Silk,” Vanessa says, and Silky shrugs, clearly out of legal ideas. </p><p>“It’s not a bad idea,” Nina interjects thoughtfully. “Not the ad part, but the fake wife part,” she clarifies at Vanessa’s open mouth. </p><p>“Where am I gonna find someone to be my fake wife for a boring work party?” Vanessa asks. </p><p>“Well,” Nina begins, “you remember my friend Brooke?”</p><p>Vanessa thinks of Nina’s dinner parties, with fancy French pastries and wine-fueled laughter. She remembers a tall blonde, an old friend of Nina’s, quiet with a shy smile and wry sense of humor. She works in the history museum a few blocks away, if Vanessa remembers correctly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Vanessa says vaguely. </p><p>“She’s really sweet. I watched her cats for her last month, and she’s been wanting to repay me. If I mention the idea, she’d probably do it.”</p><p>“You’d do that for me?” Vanessa always knew Nina is one of the kindest people ever, but this seems a lot even for her. </p><p>“Of course I would.” Nina smiles, and Vanessa breathes a sigh of relief.</p><p>—-</p><p>Brooke turns Nina’s phone call over in her mind. </p><p>
  <i>You remember my friend Vanessa? Well, she has a bit of a problem…</i>
</p><p>And apparently the solution to this problem is for Brooke to be in a fake relationship with Vanessa for some work party. </p><p>She remembers Vanessa from Nina’s parties. She rolled in the door with a smile and excitement hovering around her like a cloud and heels that didn’t make her any taller, and had the whole room laughing before her coat even came off. She even made Brooke laugh with her stories, and Brooke barely knew her. She’s the person who meets your eyes when you talk so you know she’s listening, and Brooke likes that about her. </p><p>She asked for the basics from Nina: Vanessa works in the library with her, has a dog and a cat (a point in her favor, Brooke admits), does a lot of the library’s crafts. Nina told her Vanessa is nice, that this will be fine, maybe even fun for her, but still—pretending to date someone she barely knows for a night? </p><p>But it’s a favor for Nina, and Nina would never ask her to do something dangerous. Nina, the first friend she made in college, who helped her feel safe and stayed up with her when she couldn’t sleep because she’d never been away from home before. Nina, who helped her quit smoking years ago, made her get the patches and gum and didn’t let her give up when she would have killed for a cigarette. Nina, who she still sees almost every week, trading work stories over pancakes and laughing so loud the whole diner can hear them.</p><p>She hasn’t agreed to anything except meeting Vanessa for coffee, but Brooke knows deep down she’ll probably end up going through with it. Nina said she doesn’t have to do it, that Vanessa will understand, but Brooke likes helping people and hates disappointing them. She doesn’t want to let Nina—and by extension, Vanessa—down. </p><p>It’s harmless, really. Just a work party. Nina will be there, she’ll eat, talk a little, and leave. She hasn’t been on a date in a few months, hasn't had an excuse to break out her favorite heels or dress or feel special for a night. She's been on dates with people she didn't know, and how different is this, really? She may not know Vanessa well, but she just has to pretend she does for a few hours. And really, most married couples barely know each other anyway. Brooke's never been one to turn down a challenge. </p><p>It’s just coffee, she reminds herself. </p><p>She hasn’t decided anything yet. </p><p>—-</p><p>Vanessa carries her coffee to the back of the cafe, trying not to spill it with her uneasy hands. Brooke agreed to meet her, but she doesn’t dare hope yet. She asked Nina for a basic fact sheet on Brooke, and she delivered. Brooke is a Pisces who loves her cats and works in the history museum as head of the dinosaur department. (All Vanessa knows about dinosaurs is that if some rich white guy brings them back to life, she’s staying far away. She’s seen <i>Jurassic Park</i>. She’s not an idiot). Nina met Brooke freshman year of college when they roomed together, and they meet for breakfast almost every week, because Brooke loves breakfast foods. </p><p>It’s just basic information, impersonal, really. But Vanessa can’t see any reason for getting too personal for a one-night thing. She just needs to make sure Brooke’s not secretly a murderer. She doesn’t need to know what cheers Brooke up when she’s upset, or what ice cream flavor she could eat a whole pint of, or what songs she listens to when she drives. </p><p>There’s a blonde woman at a table in the back, and Vanessa has to catch her breath, because Brooke is much prettier than she remembers. Vanessa always has a bit too much to drink at Nina’s parties, and Brooke was just a vague blonde shape in her mind. But now she sees the creaminess of her skin, the graceful limbs and focused green eyes, the full lips that make it hard for Vanessa to stop staring. </p><p>“Vanessa, right?” Brooke asks, and Vanessa recovers herself enough to nod. </p><p>Vanessa sits across from her and Brooke gives a small smile, one that shows the slight unevenness in her two front teeth and makes her even more adorable. She sips from what Vanessa can tell is black coffee, making a mental note in case it comes up during the dinner. </p><p>They stare at each other in silence, and despite being called a chatterbox her whole life, Vanessa can’t think of a single word. </p><p>“So, um, Nina filled me in,” Brooke prompts to rescue her, “And I’m just being your fake date for the night?” </p><p>Vanessa winces. “Fake wife, actually.” </p><p>“<i>Wife?</i>” Brooke’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She rubs a hand across her face and exhales. “Okay. Okay. Cool. I mean, it’s fake either way, right?” </p><p>“Right.” </p><p>Vanessa takes a sip of coffee in the silence. “I didn’t plan to do this fake wife thing. It just kinda happened,” she says, wanting to explain. “A lot of men hit on me at work, and one thought the ring was real and stopped bothering me. But then my boss thought it was real too and I just went with it, and then I got stuck going to this party.” </p><p>Brooke nods, and her expression softens with recognition, eyes knowing that feeling all too well. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Happens a lot at the museum too.” She bites her lip and inspects the table before looking back up. “To be honest, Vanessa, you’re a friend of Nina’s and I’d do basically anything for her, so I’m probably gonna do it, but will there be anything enjoyable about this for me?”</p><p>“An evening with slightly-above-average food and boring people who think <i>Friends</i> is the best show ever?” Vanessa tries. </p><p>Brooke shakes her head. </p><p>Vanessa sighs. It was worth a shot. “Well, I’d definitely owe you one. If you need a favor or something--don’t get dirty now,” she adds, blushing furiously, “—but I’d do it.”</p><p>Brooke nods. “I don’t think I--wait.” Her eyes light up, lips stretched into a possibly evil smile. “It’s my mom’s birthday in a few weeks and I’m sick of my whole family asking me why I’m single and why I can’t ever bring someone to things.”</p><p>“And I’ll be that someone?” Vanessa guesses. </p><p>“Yes,” Brooke says. Then she blushes. “If that’s okay, I mean. Sorry.” It’s such a strange combination, the confidence mixed with shyness, and maybe Vanessa can do this with Brooke. She’s certainly a better option than moving to Mexico. </p><p>It’s a pretty fair trade, Vaness figures. Brooke being her fake wife and her being Brooke’s fake girlfriend, a few hours each way. If she’s going to make Brooke put up with her coworkers, she can handle Brooke’s family. Plus, it’s a birthday party, so there’ll be cake, and that’s never a bad thing. It’s not ideal, but eventually she’ll run out of excuses to give Paul, and having Brooke be her fake wife is the best option right now. </p><p>She stretches her hand across the table, her arm buzzing when it meets Brooke’s. “You got yourself a deal.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously: Brooke and Vanessa agreed to a fake dating arrangement<br/>Now: Brooke pretends to be Vanessa's wife at a work dinner</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback for chapter 1! It really does mean so much to me that you enjoyed it and are excited for more! I hope you like this chapter and leave feedback if you'd like! Thank you so much to Writ for betaing, you're the absolute best &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brooke dumps half her closet on the bed. She hasn’t done this in a while, hasn’t stalked around her room in a robe and makeup, trying to pick an outfit. Sure, she goes to work everyday with fierce eyeliner and sharp suits and silk shirts, but this is different. She’d been extra steady with her eyeliner, blending her contour until it was perfect, but she’s not sure why. Maybe she just wants to take advantage of the night and an opportunity to look nice. Maybe she wants to impress Vanessa--who’s definitely prettier than she remembered--and show her that she’s going to be the best fake wife she can be, good enough to turn heads and have them be the perfect couple at the party. </p><p>Whatever the reason, it has her rifling through every dress and pant suit she owns, trying to decide if purple or black or red is the right color, if she should go stripes or plain, form-fitting or loose. She and Vanessa exchanged numbers after coffee, and Brooke has a text asking what to wear half-written before deleting it all. No need to bother Vanessa over this. Eventually she pulls on the plain black dress that pops against her pale skin, figuring a classic will work. </p><p>Vanessa is smiling hesitantly when Brooke gets in her car, shooting out apologies for the mess. Brooke moves aside an old magazine advertising fun kids’ activities and settles in, legs bouncing as she gets a good look at Vanessa, soft waves tumbling down her back and dazzling teeth giving the sun a run for its money. </p><p>“You look nice,” Brooke says, hoping it’s okay to say. Vanessa <i>does</i> look nice, and she figures compliments should be part of their fake marriage. Her dad always complimented her mom whenever they went out, leaving Brooke and her sister with their grandma whose cloud of old-lady perfume almost dissolved their lungs. </p><p>“Thanks. So do you.” </p><p>“Thanks.” Brooke looks at her lap, panic growing as blocks pass in silence. She knows almost nothing about Vanessa, and somehow she has to convince people they’re married for the night. Can they really pull this off? This could be one of the worst situations she’s been in, aside from the time she and Nina tried to dye their hair pink after finals and spent the night scrubbing the dorm bathroom clean, pink staining their hands for days. </p><p>Vanessa peeks over at her when they hit a red light. “Hey, Brooke? Thank you for doing this. You really saved my ass.”</p><p>Brooke blushes. “You don’t have to thank me, it’s not any trouble. I would’ve just been watching <i>Gilmore Girls</i> with my cats for the third time.”</p><p>“<i>Gilmore Girls</i>?” </p><p>“It’s a really good show. Really soothing, too,” Brooke says. She doesn’t add anything else, doesn’t add whether Vanessa would like or not because she doesn’t <i>know</i> the kind of things Vanessa likes. Vanessa could be a horror movie fan for all she knows, but from the way she jumped out of her seat when a squirrel ran in front of the car, Brooke’s thinking that’s a no. </p><p>Vanessa nods. She cranks up the radio when Beyonce comes on, chattering about work, and as they drive further away, Brooke almost forgets her nerves. </p><p>---</p><p>Vanessa’s hands are stuck on the wheel as they pull into the restaurant parking lot. Brooke looks nice--a lot nicer than Vanessa expected. Her sleeveless dress reveals strong arms that taper into clever hands and long fingers, and Vanessa has to stop looking. </p><p>Brooke fidgets with her gold bracelet, and Vanessa knows she’ll have to take the lead to get them through this. She notices her own hands are sweaty, and she dries them on her dress, forcing herself to stay calm. Paul and everyone else already bought the fake wife story, Vanessa reminds herself. All she has to do is turn up the charm until they’re completely sold. </p><p>“We got this, right?” Vanessa meets Brooke’s eyes with a hopeful smile. </p><p>“Right. We go in, we act married, we get out,” Brooke says. </p><p>Vanessa laughs. “You’re making us sound like spies! Just relax, okay? Follow my lead and we’ll be fine, I promise.”</p><p>Brooke nods, and Vanessa hands her the second fake ring she’d gotten from the thrift shop. It shines in the dim parking lot lights, gaining its second life through Brooke. </p><p>Brooke opens her door then slams it, turning back to Vanessa. “Wait. How did we get engaged?” </p><p>“What’s it matter?” </p><p>“If I’m playing a part, I want to do it right. And what if someone asks? Our stories have to match so we don’t get caught in the lie.” </p><p>Vanessa takes a breath of awe. As absurd as this whole thing is, she clearly has the right person for it, someone careful and dedicated enough to make sure they succeed. Vanessa thinks for a second. “You proposed to me on the beach, at sunset.” </p><p>Brooke scoffs. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“That’s so <i>lame!</i> That’s something a boring straight guy would do for his girlfriend he knows nothing about. If I’m gonna propose to you, it would be better than that!”</p><p>“It’s not even a real proposal!” Vanessa argues, though part of her is touched that even if it is fake, Brooke wants her to have something nice.</p><p>“Still,” Brooke insists. </p><p>“Got any ideas?”</p><p>“What would your dream proposal be?” Brooke asks. “Not some generic beach thing. Something special.” </p><p>Vanessa’s pictured her wedding before—gold sun streaking through red and orange leaves as her dress flows behind her on the walk to her wife, the fall air crisp as an apple-—but hasn’t considered all the exhausting details and planning that would get her to that point.</p><p>“Well, don’t laugh, but I had a pirate thing when I was little. My mom would put coins and toys in the sandbox and give me a map and I’d dig for them. So let’s say you did a little treasure hunt that ended in the proposal.” Vanessa never knew how much she wanted something like this, something to show her wife knows her like no one else, but as she speaks, she can see it happening. Her breathlessly flipping over a tattered map to see neat lines and bright red X. Her going through each step, faster and faster as her excitement builds, until she reaches the end and Brooke is on one knee with a box—</p><p>Vanessa shakes her head to clear out the image.</p><p>Brooke smiles. “I like that. It’s nice.” She leans in closer, like she’s sharing a secret. “I had a dinosaur thing, so I won’t laugh.” </p><p>“Seems like you still have a dinosaur thing, Miss Museum Head,” Vanessa teases. </p><p>Brooke blushes, and Vanessa’s heart leaps. “I guess I do.”</p><p>There’s a beat of silence, and they both realize this is it. Doors slam, locks click, and they give each other one last nod before entering the restaurant. </p><p>The small restaurant room Paul reserved is packed with disgruntled library employees eager for a night off, and every single head spins toward her and Brooke. A few mouths drop open, and Vanessa grins. They do look impressive, Brooke’s black dress flowing down her long frame, a perfect match for Vanessa’s red dress with tiny black stars, one of her favorite thrift store finds. </p><p>But beyond the outfits is something Vanessa can’t quite describe. She gets a look at her and Brooke in a mirror on the wall, and something about them looks <i>right</i>, like they could be on opposite sides of the room and you would still know they were a couple. Maybe it’s the way Vanessa leans into the space around Brooke, or the way Brooke slows her pace for Vanessa’s matchstick legs, but there’s some sort of magic bubbling around them. </p><p>Couples cling like koalas and Vanessa throws an awkward arm around Brooke’s waist to look more couple-y. Brooke stiffens slightly before relaxing into it. </p><p>Paul runs over. “So you’re Vanessa’s wife,” he says to Brooke, pumping her hand up and down with no sign of stopping. </p><p>“That’s me,” Brooke agrees. “I’m Brooke, if Vanessa hasn’t told you.”</p><p>“Actually, she hasn’t,” Paul says, giving Vanessa a look. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for months but Vanessa says you’ve been sick a lot lately. I hope you’re doing better after your stomach problems last week?”</p><p>Brooke shoots Vanessa a death glare, but she still answers warmly. “I’m much better now, thank you.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it.” Paul ushers them over to the table, and Vanessa quickly pulls her arm back. </p><p>“Sorry,” she whispers. “Just thought we needed a little touching.” </p><p>“It’s fine,” Brooke says, sighing in relief as they slide next to Nina at the table. </p><p>Vanessa quickly makes the introductions to her coworkers. Silky smiles devilishly and A’keria and Yvie narrow their eyes, serving as her test panel for the night, to see if she and Brooke can really sell things for the admins. </p><p>“Now, about those stomach problems?” Brooke demands. Her eyebrows are furrowed and Vanessa has to consciously stop looking at how adorable the expression makes her. </p><p>“Well, when I don’t want to go to parties, I use you as an excuse sometimes,” Vanessa says sheepishly. </p><p>Brooke pinches the bridge of her nose. “And how many times have you said I was sick?” </p><p>Vanessa shrugs. “I kinda...lost count?”</p><p>Brooke groans, heaving a mighty sigh. “I really hope this food is better than slightly-above-average.”</p><p>---</p><p>The food, it turns out, is actually better than Vanessa expected. She makes her way through fish in lemon butter, but Brooke’s lasagna came with garlic bread that’s calling her name. They’re supposed to be married, after all, so why the hell not? She reaches over and grabs a chunk. Brooke then asks for a bite of fish, and Vanessa knows from her friends’ approving nods and the calm behavior of the others that they’re completely selling the wife thing. </p><p>Vanessa doesn’t know what exactly makes a marriage look real, but she follows stuff her parents did—sharing food and joking with each other, letting their hands brush every now and then, each one making her whole arm tingle. </p><p>Brooke does her part wonderfully, no question about it. She maintains her calm all through dinner, answering question after question about herself and work. Even though Brooke seems to hold back when she talks about her job, like she’s afraid no one is interested, Vanessa finds herself really engrossed in what Brooke does, no acting required. </p><p>Brooke does a lot more than look at bones all day, Vanessa learns. She supervises the museum’s dinosaur collection and has been working on a special summer exhibit for months, getting permission to borrow a T-Rex skull from another museum. She’s also started more kids’ programs, special events and days just for them. As she speaks, Vanessa can see it. She can see Brooke strutting across the museum's stone floor in a sharp black suit, opening up a crate of fossils and grinning like a little kid, staying at the museum long past closing to set it all up. It makes her smile, and the smile doesn’t leave. </p><p>Vanessa also learns that Brooke likes hiking on the weekends, and she's grateful they’re not really married, because if she ever had to tag along on a hiking date she’d probably pass out. </p><p>When they walk back to the car amidst Paul shouting his hopes to see Brooke again, Vanessa feels sad somehow, like the thrill of tonight is fading. </p><p>“I, um, I had a nice time tonight,” Brooke says quietly, after Vanessa starts driving. “I haven’t been out in a while. I’ve been focusing on the T-Rex exhibit since January. Haven’t had time for much else.”</p><p>Vanessa nods. “Yeah, I get it. We get a lot more kids in the library for summer, I’ve been pulling crafts out of my ass to have more activities. But I love it, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Brooke says, grabbing her purse as they pull up in front of her apartment. “Um, I’ll text you about the party at my mom’s, okay?”</p><p>“Okay. Good night.” </p><p>“Good night.”</p><p>Vanessa almost wishes the night didn’t have to end, that they could still buzz with that same magic that overtook them in the restaurant. She wonders if she’s getting her wish when Brooke releases the door and turns back to her. </p><p>“Your ring,” Brooke explains, and it hits Vanessa again that this is all fake, just an act. Brooke's face falls as she tries to twist the ring off. “It’s stuck.” </p><p>“What do you mean, <i>stuck?</i>” </p><p>“I mean it’s <i>stuck!</i>” </p><p>“But it went on okay.” Vanessa shakes her head. “I bet you crack your knuckles. My mom made me stop, said I’d get big knuckles—“ </p><p>“That’s a myth!” Brooke shoots back, tugging harder on the ring. </p><p>“Let me help.” Vanessa twists it with her, trying not to hurt Brooke.</p><p>“If I lose my finger, I’m mailing it to you so it can haunt you forever,” Brooke says, a hint of panic creeping into her voice.  </p><p>“No one is losing a finger! Hang on, I have lotion.” Vanessa grabs the mini bottle of Aveeno in her purse and rubs it into Brooke’s hand, trying not to think of how soft—albeit sweaty—her skin is. Vanessa gives one last tug that sends her flying into the door, ring triumphantly in her fist. </p><p>Brooke massages her hand, then meets Vanessa’s gaze. Suddenly, they both erupt into laughter so fierce it brings tears to Vanessa’s eyes and makes her stomach hurt. I’m that moment, Brooke becomes more real to her, shaking and snorting with laughter, her face stretched into a grin. Brooke isn’t just someone who passes dishes at Nina’s without being asked, but someone Vanessa thinks she might want to know more, and she’s suddenly grateful for the birthday party coming up, grateful for more time with her. </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Vanessa wheezes. “Good night, for real.”</p><p>“Good night.”</p><p>Brooke gracefully walks into the building, and Vanessa finds herself staring at the empty space Brooke occupied long after she’s safely inside. </p><p>---</p><p>Brooke can’t quite believe it, but dinner with Vanessa was fun. Even with the number of questions Vanessa’s coworkers threw at her and the answers she had to keep spitting out, things began to feel less like a contest to prove their fake relationship and more like a real dinner party. </p><p>Vanessa is funnier than Brooke had remembered, telling story after story about the library’s chaos, from the time a grown man got stuck in the bathroom to the woman who almost went over the library desk when she found out there was no vending machine in the children’s room. Vanessa acts her stories out like she’s on stage, changing her voice and making exaggerated faces and swinging her arms all over the place.</p><p>She and Nina meet for their weekly breakfast the next day, and it’s nice to be around her warmth, nice to be around someone who knows the previous night was fake, freeing Brooke from pretending to be someone else. Even so, all Nina can talk about is how well Brooke and Vanessa did. </p><p>“I’m just saying, you really pulled it off,” Nina says around a mouthful of toast. “And she took some of your food! That was so cute, did you plan that?”</p><p>Brooke shakes her head, turning to the waffles she won’t have to share with anyone today. Not that she had really minded Vanessa’s slim wrist darting to her plate. “We didn’t plan it. She literally just stole my garlic bread.”</p><p>“Well, it worked. You looked so natural. I know A’keria, Silky, and Yvie were impressed, and they’re hard to win over.”</p><p>Brooke smiles a little at that. You can’t assign grades for being someone’s fake wife, but Brooke likes knowing she did a good job.</p><p>“Yeah. Vanessa’s gonna be my fake girlfriend at my mom’s in two weeks, and then I guess that’s that.”</p><p>“You’re really just doing the two things and that’s it?” Nina stares at her in surprise. </p><p>Brooke looks down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah? I mean, that’s what we agreed to…” she trails off. After last night, she was starting to think that more time with Vanessa could be a nice thing. Vanessa is funny and kind and charming, almost like Nina in a way, and Brooke was sucked into her personality in the dim restaurant lights. But now, in the cold morning light, the effects have worn off. They’re just two people who barely know each other, pretending to be in a relationship a few times. They might keep in touch after, talk at Nina’s parties, but there’s nothing more than that. </p><p>“Well, maybe you could stay friends after and do things,” Nina says. “You seemed like you had fun.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Brooke shovels some waffles into her mouth, because Nina is right and they both know it. Luckily, Nina moves the conversation onto the library carnival they’re having, and Brooke can forget all about last night. </p><p>---</p><p>That night, Brooke’s phone buzzes while she’s curled up with the cats, watching TV. Her heart flutters a little when she sees the sender. </p><p>
  <i>Vanessa Mateo: So how long do I have to wait for Lorelai and Luke to get together? </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Vanessa Mateo: Is Rory gonna end up with this Dean guy?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Vanessa Mateo: I need answers!</i>
</p><p>Brooke’s fingers hover over the phone. It’s been a while since she’s texted someone besides Nina or her mom, and she’s not sure how to approach this. Just as friends, she tells herself, and begins to type. </p><p>
  <i>Brooke Lynn Hytes: You’ll just have to wait and see ;)</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Vanessa Mateo: Brooke Lynn Hytes did you just winky face me???</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Brooke Lynn Hytes: ;) ;)</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously: Brooke pretended to be Vanessa's fake wife<br/>Now: Vanessa is Brooke's fake girlfriend, but they end up spending more time together</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so so much for the amazing feedback! It really makes my day and I'm so grateful for you all. I really hope you like this chapter, and I'd love any comments you have! Thank you 1,000 times to Writ for being the most amazing beta!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vanessa floats into work the week after dinner. She and Brooke really did it. Her friends agreed, and she knows the other workers--and most importantly, Paul--don’t suspect a thing. </p><p>For the first time, she actually enjoyed a work function, and she can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with Brooke’s thigh touching hers at the cramped table, or her soft voice hovering by Vanessa’s ear all night. Either way, she should be spared from work events for a while. After Brooke’s mom’s party, their work is done. </p><p>But if Brooke is with her, maybe another dinner wouldn’t be so bad. </p><p>---</p><p>“Ready for thrifting tomorrow?” Vanessa asks A’keria first thing Friday morning, waiting for her groan. A’keria and Silky didn’t enjoy thrifting like she did, usually ended up stamping their feet by the door waiting for Vanessa to hurry up, but it’s always more fun to go with them than alone, modeling ridiculous outfits and comparing each other to ugly animal figurines. </p><p>“Me and Silk have the Saturday shift tomorrow, remember?”</p><p>“Oh. I forgot.” </p><p>A’keria must know she’s upset, because her expression softens. “We’ll go next week, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe I won’t go tomorrow. It’s more fun with a group.”</p><p>“If you wanna go with someone, you could ask Brooke,” A’keria says, nonchalant even though just the mention of Brooke’s name makes Vanessa’s heart speed up.</p><p>“You want me to ask Brooke?” Vanessa prays A’keria doesn’t notice the red creeping into her cheeks. </p><p>“That’s what I said. I just think it makes sense, since she’s your fake wife and all. I know you had a good time with her at dinner.”</p><p>Vanessa shushes her, even if it’s just them in the children’s room. Asking Brooke makes sense, Vanessa admits, but she doesn’t know what the rules are, what their situation is. Sure, they had texted about <i>Gilmore Girls</i> and Vanessa is posing as Brooke’s girlfriend next weekend, but does that mean shopping is on the table? Does fake dating make them automatic friends, or are they still just acquaintances who smile awkwardly at each other at Nina’s parties?</p><p>Vanessa types a text to Brooke all in one go, heart pounding, and presses send before she can chicken out. The children’s room has its own office, and Vanessa makes several excuses to run inside and check her phone all morning, but there’s no reply. Brooke is probably working, she figures, and the thought of Brooke teaching kids or inspecting fossils makes her smile. </p><p>Just after her ladybug rock-painting activity, her phone lights up with a reply. </p><p>
  <i>Brooke Lynn Hytes: Thrifting sounds fun. I can drive if you want.</i>
</p><p>Vanessa scrambles to reply, and just like that, she’s spending Saturday with Brooke.</p><p>---</p><p>Vanessa climbs in the passenger seat, and Brooke meets Vanessa’s sunny smile with one of her own.</p><p>Yesterday, she had just finished a planning meeting for the T-Rex exhibit opening when she saw a text from Vanessa inviting her to go thrifting if she wasn’t busy, and Brooke’s heart nearly stopped, discussions on layout and invitations flying out of her brain. </p><p>Sure, she was going to spend Saturday working on her speech for the opening, but she has weeks for that, and Nina’s been on her to take a break and not work so hard. Brooke knows she’s right; she’s almost molded to her desk chair at this point, in her office until the sun sets some nights, before continuing on her kitchen table in between bites of salad. A day with no work couldn’t hurt, and that fluttery feeling in her chest when she thinks of seeing Vanessa again isn’t bad either.</p><p>Vanessa grins as she settles in her seat. She’s wearing a huge black tie-dye Led Zeppelin shirt, and she sure can pull it off. </p><p>“Thanks for coming with me,” Vanessa says. </p><p>“Of course.” Brooke can tell from her excitement that thrifting must be something she loves, and her heart warms at the joy bursting from Vanessa. “You really like thrifting, huh?”</p><p>Vanessa blushes. “Yeah. It’s just fun. There’s so much cool stuff in there, and you never know what you’re gonna get.” She pauses, takes a breath. “Oh! There’s an ice cream place nearby, if you want to get some after.” </p><p>“Oh, sure. I love ice cream.” Brooke says, cheeks burning.  As much as she loves ice cream, there’s the uncertainty of time with Vanessa, how they should interact. Most of dinner had been answering questions, a certain order to it all. What will they talk about without that structure? She’ll probably be so boring Vanessa will regret this whole day. </p><p>“Me too! It’ll be fun.” Vanessa’s confident and calm, like she senses Brooke’s nerves and wants to soothe them without making her uncomfortable, and Brooke is grateful. She takes a breath and lets Vanessa’s voice calm her. </p><p>The thrift shop looms in front of them, and Vanessa is bouncing like a little kid, out of her seat before the car stops and practically running to the door. They walk inside and Brooke gasps at the stuff covering every surface, a treasure chest come to life. </p><p>There’s shelves packed with dishes, vases, teacups, books, candles, and random trinkets. Posters and pictures spread along the walls like vines, with clothes racks and tables of more stuff forming a maze through the store. </p><p>“Isn’t this awesome, Brooke?” Vanessa looks up at her, eyes sparkling. She suddenly realizes just how <i>tiny</i> Vanessa is in flat sandals instead of heels like at dinner, and her stomach lurches. </p><p>“Yeah,” Brooke agrees. She follows Vanessa as she confidently heads straight for the books. There’s such power in Vanessa’s walk, and Brooke can’t stop watching her. She likes how wide Vanessa smiles when she finds something good, how she parades over to Brooke with a hat shaped like a pizza slice perched on her head and polka dot scarf around her neck, even how she insists on buying an ugly little pig figurine because she “felt bad for it.”</p><p>It’s not until Vanessa is checking out that Brooke realizes she was so busy watching Vanessa, she never looked at anything for herself. </p><p>---</p><p>The ice cream place is a tiny box with a large ice cream cone on the roof, and Brooke stares up at it as she and Vanessa sit at an umbrella-shaded picnic table in the back. Rainbow sprinkles scatter as they eat, Brooke with a waffle cone of strawberry cheesecake swirl while Vanessa makes her way through cookies and cream. They eat in silence, Brooke trying to think of something to say. In her experience, dinosaurs are boring to almost everyone over the age of eleven, so she needs something else to talk about. But what?</p><p>“It’s so weird eating ice cream during the day,” Brooke settles on. “My mom always made us have dinner first.” She flushes sunburn red, but Vanessa nods.</p><p>“It’s one of the only good things about being an adult,” Vanessa agrees. “We have bills and shit, but we can eat ice cream whenever we want.”</p><p>Brooke snorts and crunches on her cone. “So, um, how’s the library?”</p><p>Vanessa lets out a bark of laughter. “Sorry, it’s just—summer is wild in the children’s room.” She shakes her head and smiles. “Yesterday this lady showed up and I think she was a library card dealer. You know how magicians pull the scarf out of a hat? That was her with library cards, just pulling ‘em outta nowhere. The woman had six cards, all with different names! I don’t know how she got them all.” </p><p>“Maybe she goes around collecting them,” Brooke suggests, joining Vanessa in her laughs. </p><p>“She wouldn’t be the first,” Vanessa mutters, and Brooke wonders what goes on in that library.</p><p>“How long have you worked there?”</p><p>“Seven years,” Vanessa answers. “I never planned it, it just happened. I went to college for English, and the job opened right after I graduated. I usually did some awful retail job in the summer, so I applied as another option, and I’ve been there ever since. Never really thought of doing anything else.” She shrugs. “It gets wild, but I love it. There’s some kids who came in the first time when they were four or five, and I made their first cards, and they still come in and talk to me about school and stuff. It’s just nice, y’know?”</p><p>There’s real warmth and love in her eyes as she talks, and Brooke can picture her helping kids cut out a craft, or scanning shelves to find the perfect book just for them, and those early feelings she had of wanting to be closer to Vanessa swell like a balloon, eager to learn more about her. </p><p>“Yeah,” Brooke agrees. “It sounds like you’re really happy there.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Vanessa finishes her cone and leans in, stealing Brooke’s breath. “So. Dino girl. You ever dig up fossils?”</p><p>Brooke nods enthusiastically. “I’ve been on two digs in Montana. One was for an internship in grad school and one was after I became head of the museum department here. We didn’t find anything big, but we did get some triceratops fragments and baby hadrosaur bones.” </p><p>They had been some of the best weeks of her life. Not even the blinding sun or hours of back-aching digging that sent dust up her nose were enough to crush the thrill of brushing dirt aside to see what lay underneath, her pride and excitement in doing what she had dreamed of since she was a child clutching her dinosaur toys, twisting her mouth to say their names. </p><p>“That’s really cool,” Vanessa says, and Brooke doesn’t think she’s faking it. “Wait, did you dress like Indiana Jones? Tell me you at least wore the hat!”</p><p>“Indiana Jones is an archaeologist, first of all, and my hat had a much wider brim—“</p><p>“So that’s a yes.” Vanessa’s lips turn up into an adorable smirk. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Vanessa squeals. “I want pictures!” </p><p>“Later,” Brooke promises.</p><p>Vanessa smiles, and Brooke smiles back, and she doesn’t want the day to end. </p><p>---</p><p>A’keria has a date that night, so Vanessa has the couch to herself and stretches her legs out on the newfound space. Her legs barely fill two cushions, admittedly, but still. She’s mindlessly flicking through channels when her phone buzzes. It’s from Brooke, just two words: <i>As promised.</i> </p><p>Vanessa opens the text in confusion, only to screech at the image on her screen: Brooke standing in the dirt with mountains behind her, in hiking boots and khaki pants, sleeves of her dust-streaked white shirt rolled up to reveal hands and forearms smeared with dirt. And on her head is a light brown hat, closer to that guy from <i>Jurassic Park</i> than Indiana Jones. </p><p>She zooms in and sees Brooke’s smile, so wide it takes over her whole face. She looks as happy and proud as Vanessa has ever seen anyone look, and her heart floods with warmth for Brooke, doing something she loves so much. </p><p>
  <i>Vanessa: Nice hat. All you need is a whip to complete the look. </i>
</p><p><i>Vanessa: Btw,</i> Jurassic Park <i>is on the sci-fi channel.</i></p><p>
  <i>Brooke: Bold of you to assume I’m not already watching it.</i>
</p><p>Vanessa laughs out loud. </p><p>
  <i>Vanessa: Nerd. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Brooke: It’s so good! The special effects still hold up.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Vanessa: Nerd.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Brooke: Bookworm.</i>
</p><p>Vanessa snorts again. Obviously Brooke must have seen how fast she snatched up a new YA romance at the thrift store.</p><p>
  <i>Vanessa: Dino Girl.</i>
</p><p><i>Vanessa: Enjoy your movie.</i> </p><p>Vanessa turns to the sci-fi channel, watching the characters meet those long-neck dinos--she’ll have to ask Brooke their name--for the first time. Vanessa’s brother played the VHS tape until it wore out, and she spent years when she was little thinking a dinosaur would appear in their kitchen and pull her apart with its teeth. She hasn’t watched it in a while and she settles in, relishing the feeling of watching the movie with Brooke, like they’re occupying the same space and sharing the same experience even in separate apartments.</p><p>And maybe she pretends Brooke is there with her. </p><p>---</p><p>The week goes by, and Vanessa begins to sweat over dinner with Brooke’s family. <i>You’re not really dating, it doesn’t matter</i>, Silky assures her, but it doesn’t work. Meeting a girlfriend's family has always taken her smooth confidence and stomped on it, making her cower under stares and decide which parts of her to show and which to hide. She’s never able to be herself, the whole thing like a formal job interview where the smallest stumble could ruin her.  </p><p>Vanessa knows all too well how judgy people can be, and though Brooke is kind, there’s no telling what her family’s like. Vanessa wonders if tiny things like Brooke’s punctuality and neatness hint at strict parents.</p><p>Vanessa wants to be as good as Brooke was, to win her Oscar for the role of fake girlfriend like Brooke did for fake wife. She wants to show Brooke’s family just how smart and funny and charming she is, show them she’s perfect for Brooke even if it’s not a real relationship. And she really, really wants to spend more time with Brooke. </p><p>They’ve been texting more and more, Vanessa unleashing triple- and sometimes quadruple-texts, which she only does with friends. They’ve talked about their pets and demanded pictures, Vanessa melting like butter at Brooke’s two cats curled up sleeping together and insisting she has to meet them someday. She leaps every time her phone buzzes, eager for these glimpses into Brooke’s life, even just pieces of her workday. But she still wants more, wants to hear Brooke’s laugh and see her smile, and she asks Brooke for coffee the day before her run as fake girlfriend. </p><p>“Should I bring anything?” Vanessa asks as soon as they sit down with their coffees. </p><p>“Just you. Seriously,” Brooke insists as Vanessa starts protesting. “My mom never wants <i>anything</i>, so my sister and I just get her knitting stuff and dinner gift cards. If you bring anything, she’ll ask me why I didn’t tell you not to bring anything.” She rolls her eyes and Vanessa laughs. </p><p>“No presents, got it. What should I wear?”</p><p>Brooke shrugs. “You can wear anything. It’s nothing fancy.”</p><p>“I know, and I know we’re not really dating, I just...I don’t want them to think I’m not good enough for you.”</p><p>Vanessa cringes at the memory of visiting her last girlfriend’s parents, the night woven of harsh stares and rude comments, the girl’s family looking down on Vanessa for everything from her bright floral dress to her library job. Vanessa cried on the way home and ended things a day later. She doesn’t want to assume the same of Brooke’s parents, but she also doesn’t want to spend another night hiding in the bathroom, staring at her hair, her face, her clothes, wondering what part of her wasn’t enough.</p><p>Brooke’s eyes are kind as they meet hers. “They’d never think that, I promise,” Brooke says softly. She pauses, then adds, “And neither would I.”</p><p>She’s so sincere it gives Vanessa a lump in her throat, knowing that Brooke would never think less of her.</p><p>Vanessa nods shakily. “Okay. Maybe I’ll do a sundress,” she says, trying to brush off how touched she is. </p><p>“You look good in everything,” Brooke says, staring into her coffee. </p><p>“You too,” Vanessa says, equally avoiding eye contact. Then she smirks. “Even that safari hat.”</p><p>“I should’ve never shown you that picture,” Brooke groans, smiling too much to be mad. </p><p>They finish their coffees, and Vanessa can’t wait until tomorrow. </p><p>---</p><p>Brooke’s parents live half an hour away, and Vanessa spends the morning whipping up the perfect playlist. </p><p>Playlists are special to her, back from when her brother taught her to make CD mixes of her and her friends’ favorite songs. She’s moved beyond burning CD’s, but playlists are still special, an act of love for whoever she makes it for—hunting for perfect songs, reading lyrics and seeing how they fit, making each song count. A way of saying <i>I know you</i> with songs instead of words. </p><p>With Brooke, it’s a challenge of sorts, one she wants to succeed at. She wants to pick perfect songs they’ll both like, filling the car with a movie-worthy soundtrack and laughs and heartfelt confessions. A playlist with songs they’ll hear in a grocery store sometime and instantly be snapped back to this day. </p><p>She spends so long on the playlist that she has to rush getting ready, brave enough to wear her bright pink dress and matching lipstick. She runs to Brooke’s car and is so distracted by the amount of soft-skinned legs Brooke’s shorts show off that it takes three tries to buckle her seatbelt.</p><p>“You look really good in pink,” Brooke says.</p><p>Vanessa turns the shade of her dress. “Thanks.”</p><p>Brooke heads down the street, reaching for the radio, but Vanessa swats her hand away. “Ah-ah-ah! I made a playlist.”</p><p>Brooke’s eyes light up as Vanessa gets the AUX cord going, and she hums approvingly as Rihanna blasts through the speakers. They ride in silence, swaying along to the beat as they leave the city and buildings are replaced with open fields. </p><p>“So, um, we don’t have to do anything special relationship-wise,” Brooke begins. “My parents won’t know we’re faking. They’re not exactly...observant. I mean, I had a crush on Willow from <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</i> for years and they had no idea.”</p><p>Vanessa snorts. “Yeah, you seem like a Willow girl. I always liked Buffy the best. Got a thing for blondes, I guess.” She realizes what she’s just said and almost slams her head into the window. She needs another topic to gloss it over…</p><p>“So they’re okay with you being a lesbian?” she blurts, cringing harder at her damn mouth. Maybe she should just jump out of the car. “Shit, sorry, you don’t have to--”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Brooke sighs. “Yeah, they’re okay with it. I didn’t tell them until I was 20. They always want us to be happy, but they kind of...take a while with stuff they don’t expect?” Brooke opens her mouth and closes it, like she’s trying to find the right words. “They weren’t thrilled about me playing with dinosaurs when I was little because ‘dinosaurs are for boys’. They tried to get me to play with other stuff and I cried. Then they realized how happy I was with dinosaurs and let it go. It was kind of the same when I came out. They were quiet, then my mom cried and said if I was happy, she was happy.”</p><p>Vanessa resists the urge to grab Brooke’s hand and soothe those feelings between her words, to calm tiny-Brooke’s fears that she wouldn’t get to play with her favorite toys and older-Brooke’s worries that her parents wouldn’t accept her. </p><p>“I’m glad they’re okay with it,” she says instead. “And I’m glad you’re okay,” she adds, hoping Brooke knows Vanessa means it, understands that she would’ve comforted her if she had the chance.</p><p>“Yeah.” Brooke pauses. “What about your family? If you don’t mind me asking.”</p><p>Vanessa shrugs. “It wasn’t really a big thing. I was 14, me and my mom were in the car and I kinda shouted <i>I like girls</i> at her. She said she knew and it didn’t change things. My dad isn't really emotional, so he just kinda shrugged and went on with it. He’s good though. My brother too.”</p><p>“I’m happy it was okay for you,” Brooke says, soft and genuine. </p><p>The playlist transitions into Lorde, and they talk about work for the rest of the drive, pulling into a cheery yellow house before Vanessa knows it. Brooke opens her door and two screaming kids run down the driveway, tackling her legs. </p><p>“My sister’s kids,” Brooke explains before hugging them. “This is Sam,”--she nods to a tiny blond boy—“and Sophie”--she nudges the pig-tailed girl.</p><p>“You’re Aunt Brookie’s <i>girlfriend</i>,” Sophie says, flashing a gap-toothed grin.</p><p>It throws Vanessa, hearing it like that, even from a six-year-old. For just a second, the thrill of the word pools in her stomach, the way it always did when she was called someone’s girlfriend, and she forgets that things aren’t real, that she and Brooke aren’t really in love.</p><p>“I am,” she says, and it doesn’t feel like lying. “I’m Vanessa.”</p><p>“Let’s go inside.” Brooke sets the kids down and they tear inside. </p><p>Brooke turns to Vanessa, apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I haven’t brought anyone to a family thing in a while. My mom, she’s...she’s worried about me being alone since I was a kid. Everyone wants me to date again, even the kids ask. I’ve tried, but no one clicks.”</p><p>Vanessa shakes her head, daring to stroke Brooke’s arm just once, to soothe her. “My mom’s the same, don’t worry. And my brother’s kids would’ve done the same thing. Except those demons would’ve knocked you over.” </p><p>Brooke giggles, and it gives Vanessa a little rush, knowing she calmed Brooke. Brooke leads Vanessa into a cozy kitchen of people obviously trying to act natural despite their excitement. </p><p>“You must be Vanessa,” a woman she assumes is Brooke’s mom says.</p><p>“That’s me,” Vanessa answers, and she’s pulled into hugs by Brooke’s parents. It’s funny--Vanessa can’t see much of Brooke in their faces, but Brooke holds herself just like her father, has the same warm smile as her mother, tiny things that prove Brooke belongs here. Brooke’s sister and brother-in-law are next, both thrilled to meet her.</p><p>Vanessa pulls out the tulips she hid in her purse and gives them to Brooke’s mom. “Don’t blame Brooke, she said not to,” Vanessa says quickly. “But I wanted to.” Vanessa’s mother wouldn’t dream of going to someone’s house empty-handed, and it’s rubbed off on her. </p><p>Brooke’s mom happily puts them in a vase, and Vanessa knows she really likes them. </p><p>Vanessa sits with Brooke on a squishy couch, skin tingling where her knee meets Brooke's. Brooke around her family is... different. She’s self-conscious at first, fidgeting with her shorts and glancing at Vanessa, making sure she’s okay. But Vanessa smiles at Brooke and she slowly loosens up, a rope unraveling bit by bit. She helps her mom in the kitchen, talks about work with her sister, even calms the kids when they start terrorizing the place. It’s a new side of her around her family, one Vanessa is grateful to see.</p><p>“How did you two meet?” Brooke’s mom asks. </p><p>She and Brooke glance at each other. </p><p>“Our friend Nina introduced us,” Brooke says. They’d decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. “Vanessa works with her at the library.”</p><p>“Oh, you work in a library?” Brooke’s mom asks eagerly. “Do you like it?”</p><p>Vanessa flinches, because this is how it started with her ex-girlfriend’s family. Just an innocent work question. Then it was <i>do you even need a degree for that</i> and soon she was in an interrogation about her education and family, sinking into her chair and burning with embarrassment. But Brooke’s mom is smiling, interested rather than judging, and Vanessa unclenches a jaw she didn’t know was clenched. </p><p>“I love it there, actually. I do crafts with the kids, and we have our summer carnival coming up…” she keeps it light, figuring Brooke’s sweet family doesn’t need to know the amount of dirty diapers patrons leave behind. </p><p>They move to dinner, and everyone is so calm and polite, it’s almost… Strange, in a way. Vanessa’s family shouts over each other and laughs loud enough to be heard outside, and she’s never wanted it any other way. Here, someone asks her about work, or what she does for fun, and everyone is quiet enough to listen. It’s her own little audience, one she doesn’t have to scream for, and Vanessa turns up the charm. She compliments Brooke’s mom on the food and has them all in tears over the non-disgusting library stories. </p><p>Vanessa is so deep in the moment, in how natural it is, that she’s distractedly planning a weekend for Brooke to meet her family when it hits her that this isn’t real. Brooke won’t meet her parents or play with her nieces and nephew or devour her mom’s chicken and rice, because this isn’t real, and everything she ate becomes a rock in her stomach.</p><p>Vanessa offers to help with the dishes, but apparently Brooke’s politeness runs in the family, because they won’t let a guest clean. Instead, she stays with the kids and finds herself in a deep conversation about Legos with Sam. It’s better than conversations she’s had with adults, if she’s honest. </p><p>There’s coffee and a damn good chocolate cake and more hugs, and then she’s back in the car with Brooke.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Brooke asks. “They can ask a lot of questions.”</p><p>Vanessa waves her off. “They’re fine, Brooke. I’ve been asked worse, believe me.” </p><p>“Well, thank you again for this. It was fun.” Brooke’s voice is honey-sweet and velvet-soft, and it sends a shiver down Vanessa’s spine. </p><p>“It was no problem. Your family’s really nice.” This is it, she realizes. The agreement is over. But she <i>needs</i> more time with Brooke, needs it like air. “Hey, would you want to come to the library carnival with me in August? My boss liked you a lot. There’s no rides or anything, ‘cause that’s some legal shit, but we’ll have games and food and stuff.”</p><p>“I’d love to,” Brooke says earnestly, and something settles in Vanessa’s heart. Some sort of lightness, of joy, carried on the promise of being with Brooke again. </p><p>Vanessa’s foot brushes something, and she peeks and notices her lipstick fell out of her purse. She reaches to pick it up, then stops. Because surely Brooke, polite to a fault, will make it a point to return it, and then Vanessa can see her that much sooner.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously: Brooke and Vanessa had dinner with Brooke's parents<br/>Now: Vanessa's scheme to get more time with Brooke pays off, and they get closer</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback and love you've given this fic, it makes me so soft and really keeps me going. I'd love any thoughts you have on this chapter as well! Thank you to Writ for betaing, you're the best!! &lt;3 &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brooke smooths her thumb over the pink lipstick Vanessa wore Saturday. Pink like frosting, like peonies, like candy hearts. Like Vanessa’s lips. </p><p>It’s just lipstick, but Brooke’s been staring at it all weekend like she’s never seen it, like it’s a fossil to discover. It’s a piece of Vanessa, proof she really was in Brooke’s car, that Brooke really was that happy with her. She can’t stop picturing Vanessa putting her lipstick on, letting it glide over her lips--</p><p>Brooke has to get it back to her right away. It’s just lipstick, but Vanessa wears it a lot, so it’s probably her favorite. The library is only a few blocks from the museum, a coffee shop on the way, and maybe it’s a flimsy excuse to bring Vanessa coffee, but Brooke snatches it like a lifeline. And so what if she memorized Vanessa’s coffee order? Brooke was so horrified by the amount of sugar Vanessa dumped in that it’s burned into her brain. Brooke takes her coffee black, thank you very much, not only for the taste but because extra sugar makes her jumpy. </p><p>She has Vanessa’s sugar explosion in her left hand and the lipstick in her right as she enters the library, and she shouldn’t be sweating this much in the air conditioning. What if Vanessa already had coffee? What if someone asks Brooke why she’s here--<i>I’ll say I’m bringing my wife coffee</i>, Brooke thinks, and the thrill of it floods her. </p><p>The children’s room is bigger than Brooke expected, with long walls of books and sections for computers and toys, some kids playing on a bright rug. Vanessa is at the desk with her co-workers--A’keria and Yvie, Brooke recalls--and her face lights up when she sees Brooke. </p><p>“What brings you here?” Vanessa asks gleefully. </p><p>“Um,” Brooke begins, distracted by Vanessa’s dazzling smile. “I found your lipstick in my car. It must have fallen out of your purse.” She sets it on the desk, almost sad to lose it, like she’s lost part of Vanessa. “And I thought you might want coffee.”</p><p>Vanessa plainly does want coffee, snatching the cup and sighing in content. </p><p>“Damn.” A’keria whistles, turning to Brooke. “You got brothers? I want a fake husband to bring me coffee.”</p><p>Brooke shakes her head. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Worth a shot.”</p><p>Vanessa elbows her, then shoots out of her chair. “Hey, do you have time before work?”</p><p>“I should. Why?”</p><p>Vanessa claps her hands. “Because you, Brookie, are about to get my famous library tour.”</p><p>Brooke flushes at the nickname, which only her niece and nephew use. It’s special to hear Vanessa say it, a secret between them. </p><p>“Is this what we’re calling famous nowadays?” Yvie asks.</p><p>Vanessa shushes her and herds Brooke to the bookshelves. “These are books for little kids, middle school, and young adults. And this”--she points at shelves with construction paper hearts and rainbows streaming down the sides, informational pamphlets nestled between books for all ages-- “is the pride month display I made.”</p><p>She smiles hesitantly, proud in her work but uncertain what Brooke will think, and Brooke doesn’t want Vanessa to doubt herself for a second. She loves how much Vanessa cares, making special displays to inform kids on different sexualities and safe sex, and she wants Vanessa to know it. </p><p>“That’s awesome, Vanessa,” Brooke says. “It’s so great you did this. Think of all the kids it’ll help.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Vanessa flashes her smile again, like that was exactly what she had in mind and was waiting for someone to recognize it, to understand how important it is to her. “Here are some crafts I’ve done.”</p><p>She nods to a shelf littered with Styrofoam Poké balls and tissue boxes transformed into sharp-toothed monsters, but one catches Brooke’s eye--</p><p>“Cats!” she squeals. “How did you make them?”</p><p>Vanessa laughs. “From a soda bottle. You cut off the bottom, then paint on a face. Then you have little kittens.”</p><p>“Amazing.” Brooke meets Vanessa’s eyes, sees them shining with pride. “What else is on the tour?”</p><p>“That’s about it. Just got toys, games, computers, that kind of stuff in the corners. There’s the bathroom, but you don’t want to see that. I don’t know what people do in there.”</p><p>“This was a great tour,” Brooke says. “You know, I could give you a museum tour sometime, if you want,” she offers, hoping she hasn’t overstepped, hoping Vanessa says yes. </p><p>“Okay!” Vanessa yells. “You can show me the dinos! Like those cera-tips!”</p><p>“Triceratops,” Brooke corrects gently through a snorting laugh. She tries not to snort when she laughs because it sounds ridiculous, but Vanessa draws those laughs out of her like nothing, grinning each time. </p><p>“That’s what I meant.” Vanessa is still laughing as she leads Brooke outside, and Brooke’s chest hurts as she says goodbye. It could just be heartburn. That’s probably it. </p><p>She has to do an awkward run/walk to get to work on time, but it’s worth it.</p><p>---</p><p>“V, are you listening?” A’keria asks. </p><p>Vanessa is not listening. Not after the picture Brooke just sent: a selfie of her with a giant grin on her face, next to the T-Rex skull. She’s so carefree and happy, and Vanessa’s brain can’t focus on anything else. </p><p>“Something about hot sauce?” Vanessa tries, setting her phone down. </p><p>Silky sighs. “We already talked about that! We’re talking about A’keria’s date.”</p><p>“Oh.” Normally Vanessa would be fully in that conversation, planning hair ideas and discussing outfits. But Brooke keeps occupying a larger and large space in her head, and Vanessa forces her out for right now to be with her girls. </p><p>“She’s too busy texting Brooke.” Damn A’keria’s sixth sense. She latches on to any hint of relationship stuff like some sort of Cupid, and any fragments of Brooke that Vanessa ignored come rushing back in a green-eyed, snort-laughing tide.</p><p>“What are you two doing?” Silky demands. </p><p>Vanessa’s face burns. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Just that you text a lot,” A’keria jumps in calmly. “And you asked her to be your fake wife for the carnival even though you didn’t need to.”</p><p>Vanessa shrugs, trying to brush everything off. “We’re friends. She’s fun to be around. I just thought she might like the carnival, and I can keep Paul off my back.” </p><p>She tries to convince herself that’s true, that this is nothing more than friendship and strategy and convenience. Another appearance to stick it to Paul, make everything undeniable before they call it quits. The way her heart speeds up around Brooke has nothing to do with it. </p><p>“Sure,” Silky says, clearly unconvinced. “When are you going on your museum tour?”</p><p>Vanessa groans. “I can’t go too early or I’ll look weird. Maybe Thursday.” She liked her school field trips to museums, liked not being trapped at her desk, even if she got in trouble for going to the Viking exhibit early because her class just took <i>too long</i> in the nasty bug room. </p><p>Vanessa wonders how she’ll make it three days until she sees Brooke.</p><p>---</p><p>Museums have been home to Brooke since she was a kid. Everything was neat and orderly, the way she kept her bedroom, with a place for everything and everything in its place. It was soothing to be around so much knowledge, and she begged her mom to take her every weekend, the day usually ending with Brooke being pulled from the gift shop after trying to buy a life-size stuffed dinosaur or astronaut food with her allowance. (She’s tried astronaut food since then, and what a disappointment).</p><p>A kid gasps in surprise when they see display plaques at a child’s eye-level, and Brooke beams. She did that her first day, because she remembers standing on tip-toes and straining her neck to see things meant for grown-ups, when she wanted to see it for herself. There were times as a kid it felt like the whole world was made for other people, people who could kiss in school without fear of being called wrong, people who knew how to make friends, people who could be part of things instead of watching. </p><p>“Excuse me, ma’am,” a voice begins. Those words usually have Brooke on the defensive, preparing to be yelled at by some visitor for God knows what. But she knows that voice, and she spins around and laughs. </p><p>“I’m here for my tour!” Vanessa announces. She’s in jeans and a bright red shirt, rose-shaped hair clips nestled in her waves, and Brooke is mesmerized.</p><p>“Right.” Brooke can’t help it as she stands a little straighter, clears her throat. She loves tours, loves the chance to share her knowledge, to tell people facts—<i>did you know a stegosaurus could weigh up to 7,000 pounds?</i>—she used to be teased for knowing. Even though she doesn't do regular tours like the tour guides, she’s used to showing around special groups or workers from other museums visiting on business. Yet for all the guests wrapped in fancy degrees and fancier job titles, none are as special as the one in front of her, and Brooke wants to give her best tour ever. </p><p>“So, dinosaurs first emerged about 240 million years ago...”</p><p>They continue through the museum, past glittery gold Egyptian tombs and recreations of delicate vases and ferocious animal models. Vanessa goes wild in the Viking exhibit, maybe because the replica ship reminds her of a pirate ship, and Brooke tells her any details she remembers from history classes and museum presentations. </p><p>Vanessa poses for pictures in front of the ship, her smile dazzling, and Brooke wishes the picture was hers. Hers to look at whenever she wants, to remember today and know they shared something special. But she gives Vanessa her phone back, because they aren’t a real couple, and she has no right to ask Vanessa to send them to her. </p><p>“That was amazing, Brooke,” Vanessa praises when they’re done, and the blush creeps into her cheeks.</p><p>“I’m happy you liked it,” Brooke says honestly. </p><p>“You have a gift shop here? I used to love them. I wanted to buy this Viking sword once and it cost $500.”</p><p>Brooke barks with laughter. “I was the same way! I usually wanted stuffed animals or a rocket ship.”</p><p>“You ever try astronaut food? It’s--”</p><p>“Disgusting!” Brooke finishes, and they laugh so loud people look at them, but Brooke doesn’t care, wants to be in this moment with Vanessa.  </p><p>“Um, what are you doing this weekend?” Brooke asks, bringing things back down.</p><p>“Nothing,” Vanessa grumbles. “Me and A’keria live together, and we usually watch movies on Fridays, but she’s got a date so I’ll be alone. She must think it’s gonna go well, ‘cause I have to cover her Saturday shift too.”</p><p>“I’ll watch a movie with you if you want,” Brooke’s mouth blurts out before her brain can stop it. She shouldn’t have done that, they’re not dating. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean--only if you want to--”</p><p>Vanessa shushes her stammers with an eager nod. “I’d love that! We can get takeout. It’ll be fun.”</p><p>Brooke nods, her heart pounding. She’ll be inside Vanessa’s apartment, someplace much more personal than restaurants and museums. It’s part of Vanessa, and Brooke is honored Vanessa trusts her with it.</p><p>“I’ll be there,” she promises. </p><p>---</p><p>Brooke is going to be in her apartment in 33--no, 30; Brooke’s always early--minutes, and Vanessa is running around like a headless chicken. It’s not that her A’keria are messy; it’s just that Brooke is so neat, careful when they eat and clothes always perfect, and Vanessa doesn’t want to look like a slob. </p><p>She wants Brooke to see the pride she has in her place, a space she could call her own after sharing a cramped college dorm. She wants Brooke to walk in and know this is Vanessa’s home, know it’s part of her, from the cozy flannel blankets to the thrifted bookcase overflowing with childhood favorites she read by flashlight at night. Just like Brooke shared her museum home yesterday, bouncing through exhibits and pointing things out to Vanessa, she wants to show Brooke her home.</p><p>Brooke knocks five minutes early, takeout bags in hand. Vanessa is about to lead her inside when paws pad over hardwood, and suddenly Brooke is on the floor, Thackery in her lap and Riley licking her arm. </p><p>“You two never give me that kind of welcome!” Vanessa yells.</p><p>“Guess I’m an animal whisperer.” Brooke pets Thackery with one hand and Riley with the other, and Vanessa can’t stop smiling. Riley hates strangers, almost chewing the pizza delivery person’s pants once, but settles with people he likes. Warmth spreads through Vanessa that Riley already likes Brooke, senses all the goodness in her that Vanessa sees. </p><p>“You a something whisperer,” Vanessa mutters. She heads inside and Brooke follows, nodding in approval. </p><p>“This is a really nice place,” Brooke says. “Are those frog salt and pepper shakers?”</p><p>Vanessa cackles. “You bet they are! Found ‘em in the thrift shop.”</p><p>“I have dinosaur ones. Nina got them for me.” Brooke blushes. </p><p>“Of course you do.” </p><p>They settle on the couch with their Thai feast. Vanessa fires up Netflix, and though it’s odd to see Brooke on the other end of the couch, long legs tucked underneath her, she somehow looks <i>right</i>, like the couch always had room for her. </p><p>“What are we gonna watch?” Brooke asks, digging into her noodles. </p><p>“Maybe a rom-com?” Vanessa suggests hesitantly. “I know they’re cheesy as hell and ain’t real feminist-y, but sometimes it’s nice to see love as this big thing.” </p><p>“Yeah. So many married people don’t even like each other.”</p><p>“Exactly!” Vanessa yells, because Brooke <i>gets</i> it. “They make love a chore or something, but it shouldn’t be. Sometimes I want some big cheesy gesture or for someone to run through an airport for me. It’s better than not caring at all.”</p><p>Love can’t always be a movie, she knows that. But the <i>idea</i> of it, of meaning that much to someone, is what Vanessa’s always wanted. Her parents were like that, cooking together and bringing home flowers and yelling at <i>Jeopardy!</i> contestants, and Vanessa wants that devotion and warmth someday. </p><p>“Airports are too big. I’d run through a train station for you,” Brooke says, so dry that Vanessa whacks her with a pillow. “Seriously, a rom-com’s fine.”</p><p>Vanessa tries to find one before Brooke sees her recently watched list--a very personal thing, in Vanessa’s opinion--but she’s too late. </p><p>“<i>She-Ra and the Princesses of Power?</i>” Brooke asks. </p><p>“Don’t laugh!” Vanessa barks. “It’s really good. These kids at the library like it and I started watching to get activity ideas. Then I got hooked.”</p><p>Brooke’s smile is warm enough to melt ice, eyes soft and loving. “That’s really sweet. It’s nice how much you care.”</p><p>Vanessa can’t stop the pride from creeping into her smile. “I just want the library to be a good place for them, y’know?”</p><p>“Yeah. I try to do the same at the museum.”</p><p>Vanessa’s heart warms at how much Brooke cares, just like Vanessa cares. </p><p>There’s ten minutes of scrolling and countless insistings of <i>‘you can pick’</i> before they finally start <i>About Time</i>. Vanessa likes having Brooke there, an anchor on the couch, laughing and sharing the movie with her, even though she doesn’t need tissues at the end like Vanessa. </p><p>“You don’t cry at movies?” Vanessa asks. </p><p>“Not a lot.”</p><p>“Look me in the eyes and say you didn’t cry over <i>Marley and Me.</i>”</p><p>“Of course I did! That’s different.” Brooke leans in, air around her suddenly serious, like she’s about to share something private. “I cried a lot when I was little. When someone took my things, when we had to leave my grandparents’ house, you name it. Then I got embarrassed and kinda outgrew it.”</p><p>Vanessa nods. “I was a yeller. My mom said people could hear me in Alaska.”</p><p>“I believe it.”</p><p>“Hey! At least people can always hear me at parties and stuff!”</p><p>“Even parties in Alaska.” Brooke snorts. “Speaking of parties, my parents loved you. They’ve been telling me all week how great you are.”</p><p>“You’re kidding.” Vanessa wants to believe it, but she can’t. Not after the disaster parent meetings she’s had. </p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“They really said that about me?”</p><p>“You seem surprised.” Brooke’s words are part statement and part question, leaving it up to Vanessa how things go. Vanessa hesitates, because she doesn’t do this. She doesn’t let things bother her, doesn’t let people’s opinions change her confidence. She’s enough, and she knows it. Brooke doesn’t need to hear this, but her eyes are warm and inviting, and maybe it’s good to talk about it. </p><p>“Parents don’t usually like me,” Vanessa admits, picking at a loose pillow thread. “They want someone fancy and proper and that’s just not me. My last girlfriend's parents told me I wasn’t good enough for their daughter.” A stray tear falls and Vanessa reaches for a tissue, but Brooke is already offering one. </p><p>“Hey,” Brooke says softly. “You’re smart and funny and caring and beautiful. You’re more than enough, Vanessa.”</p><p>Vanessa nods through her sniffle, not trusting her voice when Brooke is being so kind, so tender. </p><p>“Can I hug you?” Brooke asks, and Vanessa throws herself in Brooke’s arms. She lets Brooke hold her, her tears washing away with the soothing scent of Brooke’s tea tree shampoo, the steady beat of her heart beneath Vanessa’s ear. Vanessa gives amazing hugs, everyone tells her so, and Brooke matches her skill, squeezing gently, hands resting on Vanessa’s back. Brooke’s arms are the coziest, safest blanket and Vanessa never wants to leave them. She could live in Brooke’s arms, make a home nuzzled against her chest. </p><p>She forces herself to pull away, looking down at the couch. “Thanks.” </p><p>“No problem.” There’s an awkward silence, then Brooke stands. “I should go. You have to work early tomorrow, right?”</p><p>“Ugh, don’t remind me. I gotta get up at the ass-crack of dawn.” She sighs. “What are you doing tomorrow?”</p><p>Brooke grimaces. “Babysitting. My sister has this dinner thing, and I told her I’d take the kids.”</p><p>“Yikes.” Before Vanessa thinks it through, she’s speaking again. “You want help? Two kids is a lot by yourself.”</p><p>“I’m fine. I don’t want to bother you--”</p><p>“Let me help, Miss Thing!” Vanessa suddenly wants to, would rather spend the night with Brooke and the kids instead of her TV and a bag of chips. </p><p>“Okay, okay.” Brooke holds her hands up in surrender. </p><p>Vanessa grins. “Coming at you tomorrow, the Mateo-Hytes babysitting crew!”</p><p>The echo of Brooke’s barking laugh soothes Vanessa to sleep that night.</p><p>---</p><p>Brooke knows they’re well past their agreement. This was supposed to be two events and done, back to their normal lives where fake dating is the stuff of rom-coms. But throw in the thrifting, and the lost lipstick, and the movie, and now Brooke is at the mob scene that is a Saturday afternoon grocery store buying brownie mix because Vanessa suggested making brownies with the kids tonight. </p><p>It’s almost like she and Vanessa are two boats being tossed about in each other’s paths. Even though they didn’t intend to keep doing things after the agreement ended, they somehow still are. Sure, Brooke didn’t have to suggest movie night, could have refused Vanessa’s babysitting offer, but she didn’t want Vanessa to be alone, and considering her last babysitting experience resulted in deep-cleaning the living room rug, she could use the help. </p><p>There’s also the bonus of seeing Vanessa again. Brooke doesn’t know what they are, exactly, and even though most of her life is spent classifying, assigning order to things, maybe she can be okay with the uncertainty. All she knows is that Vanessa makes her laugh more than anyone, understands the things she says and even the things she doesn’t, makes her happier than she’s been in a while. Vanessa is special, that much she does know, and Brooke will take any second she can with her. </p><p>It’s been nothing but work for months, every second spent on the T-Rex exhibit. There’s no room for the giggling Brooke does around Vanessa when she’s one of the only women at the museum, where board members think she’s too forgiving of interns, too focused on kids. She forgets all that around Vanessa, her muscles loosening up, carefree and excited like a kid on summer vacation. </p><p>She throws brownie mix in her cart and motors down the aisles, dodging screaming kids and middle-aged ladies fighting with employees. She’s back home just before the kids arrive, bouncing with excitement over being at Aunt Brookie’s. Brooke sets them up in the living room with their toys and starts on dinner. </p><p>Someone knocks and Brooke runs to the door, revealing a cheerful Vanessa who makes Brooke’s heart skip a beat. </p><p>“Where’s the babies?” she asks, gathering her hair into a ponytail. Brooke can’t stop staring at the curves of her hands, how quickly her fingers move, twirling around her hair with ease.</p><p>“Kids are in the living room.” </p><p>“No, the kitties!”</p><p>“Oh.” Brooke nudges the cats out of her room and Vanessa gets on the floor with them, nuzzling their fur and cooing. </p><p>“Apollo’s kind of mean around new people, don’t worry if he doesn’t like you,” Brooke says, but Apollo is letting Vanessa pet him, which is damn near a miracle. He must really like Vanessa, and Brooke agrees with his judgement. </p><p>Vanessa finally stands and surveys the kitchen, and Brooke tries to see it from Vanessa’s eyes, hoping she likes it. There’s the tiny green floral rug by the sink bringing the outdoors to her. The cozy kitchen table where she drinks her morning coffee. The row of succulents on the window sill that Brooke made a watering schedule for, determined to get them through the dry summer. </p><p>“It’s cozy here. I like it,” Vanessa says, peeking at the pot of boiling water. “What we got cookin’?”</p><p>“Mac and cheese.”</p><p>Vanessa sighs in content, then raises one adorable eyebrow at the blue box on the counter. “Oh no, Mary! You gotta make it homemade!”</p><p>Brooke’s cheeks redden. “I-I’m not good at cooking, okay? I’m always afraid I’m doing stuff wrong, so I don’t do it.”</p><p>Cooking should come easy to her, because she likes following instructions, crossing things off lists, but it doesn’t. She doesn’t have the instinct for it like she does other stuff, like picking out good digging spots and identifying the fossils and rocks underneath, or using her surroundings to get home on a new hiking path. With cooking, she can’t get the motions down, never knows if she’s chopped things correctly, gets so worried about undercooking that she overcooks. </p><p>Vanessa’s expression softens, her gaze caressing Brooke like a warm blanket. “Hey, I’ll help you, okay? We’ll do it together.”</p><p>Brooke nods shakily, letting Vanessa show her to cook the flour and add the milk, stirring the cheese in carefully. Vanessa’s floury hand brushes against Brooke’s on the spoon, and Brooke almost drops it once the warmth of Vanessa’s skin hits her. Half an hour later, Brooke looks down at the finished dinner and smiles in disbelief. They made this, her and Vanessa, and Vanessa talked and joked all the way through it, kept Brooke calm, and now they have this dish of golden breadcrumbs, gooey cheese, and warm pasta to show for it. It’ll be devoured by ravenous kids soon, but it doesn’t erase that they made this. <i>Together</i>. </p><p>“We really did it,” she whispers. </p><p>“Food Network, here we come,” Vanessa giggles. </p><p>---</p><p>Dinner and brownies devoured, Brooke and Vanessa join the kids on the Barbie-and-Lego-strewn rug. Watching kids play is something special, the way they can go for hours with wild imaginations. It reminds Brooke of her hours playing explorer with stuffed animals, free from the kids at school who teased her for being too quiet and too smart. Vanessa’s eyes glimmer and Brooke wonders if she’s reminiscing too.</p><p>Sophie has her Barbie and Ken dolls contorting in unhuman ways to kiss, and Brooke and Vanessa snicker. </p><p>“Aunt Brookie,” Sophie asks, “Do you and Ness kiss like my dolls?”</p><p>If Brooke had water, she would spit it out. Instead, she chokes on nothing but air and Vanessa whacks her on the back. </p><p>“Um, yes, we kiss, Soph,” Brooke manages when her breath returns. Don’t think about kissing Vanessa. Don’t think about her pink lips. </p><p>“At home,” Vanessa adds with a wink. </p><p>Sophie nods, and Brooke thinks they’re safe, just another bout of a kid’s curiosity. Then Sophie chants, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”, nudging Sam and getting him to join in like only an older sister can, and soon they’re shouting. </p><p>She turns to Vanessa and freezes. The kids are at full volume, and Brooke’s sure to have angry neighbors. One little kiss will be enough to quiet them before complaints roll in. They’re still just friends, it’s no big deal. Brooke can’t deny the curiosity rising in her, the way her body is creeping forward ever so slightly. Are Vanessa’s lips as soft as they look? </p><p>Brooke looks at Vanessa with the question in her eyes, and Vanessa nods. Their lips meet to a chorus of cheers and--<i>shit</i>. </p><p>Somewhere Brooke registers that she shouldn’t be feeling this good when she and Vanessa aren’t really together. But every other thought is on Vanessa, on the softness of her lips and faint taste of brownies, on their hearts pounding in time. She remembers they’re in front of the kids and forces herself to pull back before things go too far. </p><p>The kids move on, but Brooke is stunned. Her nose is still filled with Vanessa’s green apple shampoo. Her fingertips are tingling. Her body burns like fire. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispers to Vanessa. </p><p>“Don’t be.” Vanessa seems as shocked as Brooke, touching her lips like she can’t believe Brooke’s were just there, looking at Brooke like she’s never seen her before. </p><p>Brooke almost wishes the kids would demand another kiss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously: Brooke and Vanessa's night of babysitting turned into them kissing<br/>Now: They both deal with the aftermath and find themselves pulled together once again</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback and comments you've been giving this fic! They really do mean a lot to me and I appreciate them all. It would be great if you could leave some on this chapter as well. Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and helping me out with this chapter, you're the best</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I kissed Brooke,” Vanessa blurts to A’keria. Saying it makes it real, proves it wasn’t a dream or hallucination. It really happened, and Vanessa knows it doesn’t mean anything, but her lips are still tingling. </p><p>“What the hell happened?” A’keria asks. </p><p>“We were babysitting, and her niece chanted for us to kiss and...yeah.” Shit, it sounds lame like that. But on that rug, with the sunset illuminating every inch of Brooke’s face, her cheeks glowing, it was almost...magical. Almost <i>real</i>. It’s not, though. It barely lasted five seconds. Vanessa kissed her abuela longer than that as a kid, scrubbing sticky lipstick off her cheek after. </p><p>“Damn. One six-year-old is all it took.” A’keria mutters. </p><p>Vanessa swats at her. “Hey! She was loud enough for the whole building to hear, okay? We had to!”</p><p>A’keria rolls her eyes. “Yeah, she really forced you. Who would win, two adult clowns or a first-grader? Not you, apparently.”</p><p>“You calling me a clown?”</p><p>“You and Brooke. Might as well open up a circus.”</p><p>Vanessa groans. “It was just so the kids would quiet down. She’s gonna be my fake wife at the carnival to shut Paul up some more, and that’s it.”</p><p>But does Vanessa want that to be it? That can be the end of the fake-wives-and-girlfriends thing, but Vanessa knows she doesn’t want it to be the end of their friendship. She can’t lose Brooke in her life, laughing at work stories and sending each other selfies, someone who just <i>gets</i> her, who didn’t ask her to change anything.  </p><p>They were thrown right into the fire at first, forced to act married. But things have slowed since then, the intense blaze now a cozy fireplace warmth, with more of Brooke unraveling before Vanessa’s eyes. How sweet she was around her family. How she sends Vanessa pictures of dogs she sees. How excited she was after realizing she made mac and cheese. And the kiss--but Vanessa’s not thinking about that. </p><p>“If you say so.”</p><p>“We’re friends. Not every relationship has to be romantic.”</p><p>“No, they don’t,” A’keria agrees. “But if your feelings for her go beyond friendship, I don’t think you should deny that.”</p><p>Vanessa shrugs. She’ll deal with that when--and <i>if</i>--she has to.</p><p>---</p><p>“Hytes!”</p><p>The men on the museum board favor last names for address and Brooke can’t argue without being called whiny. She snaps her head up, trying to focus. Her brain is a slow computer with too many tabs open, pinging between guests and her speech and kissing Vanessa—</p><p>“Yes, Greg?”</p><p>Ugh. <i>Greg</i>. He hadn’t believed Brooke was department head the first time they met, had called the museum director to accuse her of lying. The resulting pride that erupted in her after Greg found out that Brooke is, in fact, department head, had left a stream of tension between them at every board meeting. </p><p>“Check with the guests for the T-Rex opening again. Some are major donors, so we need them.”</p><p>Brooke nods wearily. So much of the museum came down to donors, and she knows it’s important, but she wishes this entire exhibit opening didn’t have to fall on her. But her shoulders are more than strong enough to carry it. </p><p>“Unfortunately, with the expenses of the T-Rex,” Greg continues, “Your department might face cuts if this doesn’t go well.”</p><p>The words slice at Brooke’s stomach. “Cuts?” she demands. “But funding got cut last year--”</p><p>“Then you’ll just have to do well, won’t you?”</p><p>Brooke nods. She could punch Greg, but she has to channel that energy into this exhibit instead. She can’t face more budget cuts. She cried after letting Ariel the intern go last year, and she won’t lose Plastique this year. Cuts would also mean less events and kids programs. How many kids like her come through those doors and gain a new passion for paleontology? How many find a safe space, or realize they’re not alone? How many dream of ages past as they walk through the rooms? </p><p>Brooke won’t let them down.</p><p>All she wants is to text Vanessa after, to rant with someone who knows that higher-up board-member nonsense. Vanessa said that one racist library board member told her ‘someone like her’ didn’t even belong in a library, and Brooke just wanted to hold Vanessa and comfort her. Now, selfish as it is, she wants Vanessa, because somehow Vanessa has come to mean comfort to Brooke. She writes a text asking Vanessa for coffee and freezes.</p><p>Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke’s problems weighing her down. She knows how caring and empathetic Vanessa is, how she takes on the feelings of others, hurts when her friends are and sad when a kid at the library cries. Makes it her mission to cheer them all up. Brooke loves it about her, but she can see Vanessa caring too much and getting stressed, and she won’t let Vanessa do that. They’re friends, and they share things, but this seems too big, something Brooke wouldn’t want anyone to carry with her. She won’t hurt Vanessa with it. </p><p>She deletes the text.</p><p>--- </p><p>Vanessa hovers outside Brooke’s office. Something’s up with Brooke. Her replies have been short and half-hearted all week, and though it could be nothing, and she knows she has no right to expect essay-length texts from Brooke, she knows in her gut something’s wrong. </p><p>Vanessa finally knocks, and the Brooke that greets her isn’t unlike normal Brooke. But Vanessa looks closer, for things she would have missed before but are obvious to her now. Brooke’s eyes are dull, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is messier than normal, like she’s been tearing her hands through it. And then she sees Brooke’s hands, usually so sturdy and clever and quick. They’re trembling a little, just enough for Vanessa to see. She has to restrain herself from grabbing those hands, running her thumb over the smooth skin until Brooke is calm. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks. </p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Liar.” She can see the wheels spinning in Brooke’s mind, the worry in her eyes. She’s seen Brooke nervous before, but this is different. This is tense and stressed Brooke, trying and failing to keep her professional put-togetherness, and it hurts Vanessa’s heart. Vanessa puts her hands on her hips, daring Brooke to lie again.</p><p>Brooke sighs. “It’s the exhibit. I need to make sure all the donors are coming, and if there’s not a good turnout my department might lose funding, so everything...everything has to be perfect.” She takes a deep breath, and Vanessa wonders how long she’s been holding that in, letting it poison her. </p><p>“Perfect’s a lot to ask,” she says softly. </p><p>“I can do it. It has to be,” Brooke says simply, and Vanessa wonders how many times perfection’s been asked of her before, how many times she’s worked herself into the ground to deliver it. </p><p>“Who said? That asshole Greg?” She’s heard enough from Brooke to know Greg is <i>not</i> someone she wants to meet. </p><p>Brooke nods weakly, and all Vanessa wants is to smooth that wrinkle between her eyebrows. </p><p>“Can I help with anything?”</p><p>“I don’t think so. I just have to wait for replies. And finish my speech--” she grabs notecards off her desk, “--which is horrible.”</p><p>“I’ll listen to it! No arguing,” she says when Brooke protests. “Read it.”</p><p>Brooke does, talking about how great it was to bring the skull here and the importance of museums. It’s a good speech, one that’ll have rich people opening their checkbooks. But something’s missing--that breathless, childlike passion Brooke has when she talks about dinosaurs, the excited inner child that comes through in her smile. Brooke is going for cool and professional, and it’s good, but it’s not <i>her</i>. At least, not the Brooke Vanessa knows. </p><p>“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Vanessa says gently, “But can you make it less formal? A little more fun, more like <i>you</i>?”</p><p>“That’s how I had it the first time,” Brooke admits. “I just--”</p><p>“You wanted it to be perfect,” Vanessa finishes. “But it’s perfect when it’s like you too, you know.”</p><p>Brooke smiles, and Vanessa knows she’s gotten through to her. “Thank you, Ness.”</p><p>Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Ness?”</p><p>“That’s what Sophie calls you. I kinda like it.”</p><p>“Okay, <i>Brookie</i>.”</p><p>Brooke swats at her playfully, and Vanessa drops into Brooke’s desk chair. Her desk is neat, of course, littered with tiny dinosaur figures and pens in a C-3PO mug. She smiles at pictures of Brooke on fossil digs, in graduation robes, giving presentations. </p><p>“Brooke Lynn Hytes, dino expert.” Vanessa shoots a horrible imitation of Brooke into her desk phone.</p><p>“I don’t sound like that!” </p><p>“Sure you do.”</p><p>“<i>‘Sure you do,’</i>” Brooke mimics in a raspy voice that Vanessa admits is accurate. She could sit here all day, but lunch is almost over. </p><p>“I gotta go, but take a break,” Vanessa orders. “I know you’re working too hard.”</p><p>Brooke nods, and her smile loops in Vanessa’s head all day. </p><p>---</p><p>Brooke types the last sentence of her speech, sitting back in awe. <i>Her</i> speech for the opening of a special exhibit, a childhood dream come true. It hadn’t been easy to get here. There were the doubtful years of college when Brooke learned paleontology was a lot more than digging up bones, when professors--usually male--approached her in lectures and asked if she had the right room, <i>maybe you’re looking for the teaching department, sweetie?</i> There was the struggle of needing a perfect application for one of only a few internships, the job prospects that made her toss and turn at night, wondering if she should go the teaching route, suck it up and teach earth science to bored college kids needing an elective. And then those first bones shone through the dirt, glittering under the Montana sun, and Brooke had known that this was all she ever wanted. </p><p>She reaches for her phone to tell Vanessa. It’s strange—Brooke never would’ve thought of sharing this with anyone, would’ve just kept it to herself. Another day at work. But she’s done it, and all she wants is for Vanessa to know, to share it with her. Lately she’s sharing more and more with Vanessa, from funny memes or restaurant recommendations to the book of Mary Oliver poems she’s going to give Vanessa as a thank you for helping with the speech. She loves when Vanessa sends stuff back, selfies of her in a witch hat, or pictures of crafts she’s done. The fact that Vanessa did something like tiny She-Ra swords and thought of Brooke, wants her to experience it too, makes Brooke warm and fuzzy inside. </p><p>There’s a missed call from her mom, and Brooke calls her back first, trying to calm her heart. There’s no reason to think anything bad happened, she reminds herself. </p><p>“Mom?” Brooke asks hesitantly. </p><p>“Brooke!” She’s too cheerful to report bad news, and Brooke relaxes. “Your dad and I were wondering if you and Vanessa want to come for dinner some time?”</p><p>Shit. “Um--”</p><p>“We’d love to see her again.”</p><p>“I’d have to check.”</p><p>It’s not fair to ask Vanessa again. The agreement was one work dinner and one family party, but they’ve strayed so far from that Brooke doesn’t know where they stand anymore. Brooke planned to say they broke up if her mom asked. She never thought her parents would like Vanessa so much. But she should have expected it, because who doesn’t love Vanessa seconds after meeting her? </p><p>“Well, I hope so.” Her mother’s voice is so loving that Brooke’s guilt burns hotter. “Vanessa’s such a good fit for you. You’re so happy around her.”</p><p><i>It’s not real!</i> Brooke wants to yell, and she almost tells her mom the truth. But that would crush her, crush the person who always wanted Brooke to be happy. The person who brought her to the park and coaxed her to join the other kids, even though Brooke was too nervous to ask for her turn on the monkey bars and sat under the slide instead, dreaming of worlds where she wasn’t told to come out of her shell. Who brought her to museums and science camps and encouraged her to keep going in college. Who tried to find women for Brooke to date after she came out, wanting her to have someone she could be happy with.  </p><p>How could she disappoint her mom like that?</p><p>She swallows the lump in her throat. “I-I’ll check, Mom, okay?”</p><p>“Okay, honey. Love you!”</p><p>“Love you too.”</p><p>Brooke sighs, shrugging out the tension in her shoulders. She needs the big guns for this one. </p><p>---</p><p>“I don’t know what to do, Nina.” Brooke burrows herself deeper into Nina’s couch and takes another sip of wine. “Everything’s a mess.”</p><p>Nina occupies the couch’s other end, just like their college days, giggling on a cramped twin bed. Brooke wishes they were back in that freezing cinder-block room, where her biggest concerns were finding edible dining hall food and finishing homework and herding drunk Nina, who just wanted to re-enact every Disney movie ever, into bed. Not the absolute disaster things have become. One little lie. One little lie to stop endless questions about dating, the well-meant hopes that she’ll find the one. Now, the lie is a skyscraper about to collapse in front of her, and all she has to mend it is duct tape. </p><p>What was she thinking, agreeing to this? One smile from Vanessa and she was gone, fake ring on her finger and knees touching on her parents’ couch like teenagers, watching movies and bringing coffee and texting nonstop. Now she has to break her mom’s heart and tell her they broke up, or do the act all over, pretend to be in love again, and then what? They keep doing this for the rest of their lives? </p><p>“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Nina says finally. “You said Vanessa liked your parents, so why not ask her?”</p><p>“Because where does it end? We do this again, my mom loves Vanessa more, she keeps asking to see her. I’m supposed to ask Vanessa to do this for every birthday and holiday and whatever? Next thing you know we’re spending Christmas there--”</p><p>“Brooke.”</p><p>“--And my mom loves weddings. There hasn’t been one since my sister’s so she’ll start asking about that--”</p><p>“Brooke.”</p><p>“--Then we’ll have a fake wedding, and what if she starts asking about kids? Oh my God, I’m gonna have to kidnap a child and they’ll make a Lifetime movie about me—“</p><p>“Brooke! Breathe, okay?” </p><p>Brooke realizes how fast the words are tumbling out, how little she's breathing. She forces a deep breath, willing her lungs to accept the air. Nina pats her shoulder gently, and Brooke nods that she’s okay. </p><p>“I think you should just ask Vanessa," Nina continues. "There’s plenty of time to figure things out after. You can tell your mom you broke up later.” </p><p>“But it’s not fair to keep asking Vanessa. And the longer this goes on, the more it’ll crush my mom when it’s over. It’s easier to end it now, before she really gets attached to Vanessa.” </p><p>It’s not just her mom, Brooke realizes. The more they do this, the closer Brooke gets with Vanessa, and the more it will hurt when it ends. Vanessa has become one of her favorite people, and she can’t lose their friendship. What if asking Vanessa to do this again ruins it?</p><p>“Honey, I get that. Vanessa did ask you to the carnival though, so maybe she won’t mind going to your parents’ again? It’s one more event each way, so it’s not totally unfair.”</p><p>Brooke shrugs. “Maybe.”</p><p>“Don’t forget yourself either,” Nina says. It’s familiar, something’s Brooke’s heard since they were eighteen and Nina made sure sleeping and eating didn’t get sacrificed to Brooke’s studying. “You can’t keep fake dating just to please people.”</p><p>Brooke nods. “You’re right, Nina. How’d you get so smart?”</p><p>“Just born that way, I guess.” Nina sips wine with a smug smile. “And I want a lead role in the Lifetime movie.” </p><p>---</p><p>The carnival grows closer, and preparation is in full swing. There’s a running tally, currently at seven, of how many game booths Yvie’s told off on the phone for not following safety rules. There’s the list of food trucks Vanessa and Silky assembled from their personal rankings, plus a new Greek one Brooke told her about. There’s Nina and A’keria’s practice sheets of face paint designs, from fierce tigers to questionable butterflies. </p><p>Aside from the kids, this is what Vanessa likes best about her job--having different activities to do, things that let her be creative and not have to sit still at a desk like she did in school, or spend hours refolding the same shirts like when she did retail. She can run outside to test paper airplanes for a craft, or arrange displays, or help kids with homework, and maybe that’s why she never wanted another job. What other job would let her have this much fun?</p><p>The added bonus is that it distracts her from Brooke and dinner with her parents. She shouldn’t <i>need</i> distracting from Brooke, but try telling her brain that after seeing Brooke in a fire-engine red skirt the other day, the fabric wrapped around her legs like a second skin. Not to mention the fact that she kissed Brooke pops into her head at random moments, and she can still feel those soft lips against hers. </p><p>Is there something more to her feelings? But they’ve been faking a relationship, and that’s bound to rub off. How many movie co-stars got together after playing love interests? Not that she and Brooke are exactly movie stars, but hey, their performance was convincing. Sure, she talks on the phone with Brooke for hours at night, just like high school minus the tether of the phone cord, and brought her cookies once, but those don’t have to be romantic. The speeding up of her heart around Brooke, the way she’s drawn close to her like a magnet, how her eyes can’t leave Brooke when they're together, aren’t anything either. </p><p>So having dinner with Brooke’s parents again shouldn’t be a big deal. If this were a real relationship, a second parent meeting would be much more serious, requiring Vanessa to wear her best dress and bring fancy wine. But they’ve already passed the test, and it’s just dinner. Brooke is nervous, she knows, never planned things to get this far and felt awful for asking, but Vanessa gets it. If the situation was reversed, she doubts she could crush her mom, always on lookout for girls Vanessa can date, like that either. </p><p>And she <i>did</i> ask Brooke to the carnival, which wasn’t part of the agreement. Another dinner isn’t unfair. One more dinner, and Brooke will end things on her side, and Vanessa will go back to saying her wife is sick when parties come up. Vanessa hates to think of Brooke’s parents being upset they broke up, but she can do it. </p><p>A’keria’s wrong. She’s <i>not</i> in love with Brooke. </p><p>At least, she doesn’t think so.</p><p>---</p><p>Dinner is just them and Brooke’s parents, and Vanessa lets herself go. They want to know more about her, and she tells stories of summers at the beach as a kid, sand clinging to her legs as she built sand castles with her mom, how she and brother splashed for hours, how her dad hoisted her on his shoulders to watch the nightly fireworks. She talks about her college roommate Shea--they kissed once, incidentally, but Vanessa leaves that out--and how they threw a party on the dorm roof. She talks about the time she, Silky, and A’keria misread the recipe and made 50 pancakes instead of 15 and passed them around the apartment building. </p><p>Everyone laughs, and it’s hard not to love this, not to <i>want</i> this. A girlfriend like Brooke with her nice family, who reminds Vanessa of her own family even if they’re nowhere near as chaotic. Talking about memories must spur something in Brooke’s mom, because after dessert she pulls them in the living room and whips out a photo album. </p><p>“Here’s Brooke as a baby,” Brooke’s mom says, and Vanessa melts, her heart damn near exploding at baby Brooke, wrapped snugly in a white blanket patterned with pink hearts. Her hair is lighter than it is now, almost white-blonde, but her smile is exactly the same. Her eyes are wide and shining with joy. </p><p>“Here she is in kindergarten.” </p><p>There’s five-year-old Brooke outside a red brick building with a huge grin on her face, modeling a pink tutu, in a blue dress at graduation. </p><p>“And here’s Brooke in middle school—“</p><p>“Mom, I’m begging you,” Brooke groans, but the page flips to a picture of teenage Brooke whose reluctant smile reveals wire-covered teeth. </p><p>Brooke buries her face in her hands, and Vanessa gently pulls them away. </p><p>“Hey, everyone looked horrible in middle school,” Vanessa soothes. “I bleached part of my hair once and looked like Cruella DeVil.”</p><p>Brooke brightens. “You owe me a picture of that.” </p><p>“Fine.” </p><p>The pages turn, and Vanessa doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten, doesn’t notice anything until thunder tears through the sky, bringing pounding rain with it. Everyone jumps, and the reality that they have a half-hour drive in pouring rain and darkness hits, making Vanessa squeeze herself. </p><p>“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Brooke says. “Wanna go, Ness?”</p><p>If Vanessa could focus, she’d notice her face flushing over the nickname. But she can’t, because she very much does <i>not</i> want to go out into that storm. </p><p>“Maybe we can wait it out?” Vanessa suggests, and Brooke nods. </p><p>It’s still going strong half an hour later, and Vanessa’s jumpy, rubbing sweaty hands on her legs. </p><p>“I don’t think it’s gonna let up,” Brooke’s mom says in worry. “I’d hate for you to drive in this dark anyway. Maybe you should stay here for the night.”</p><p>Vanessa turns to Brooke, who’s biting her lip. Vanessa knows Brooke doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable staying here, but Vanessa would much rather be in this cozy house than driving in that storm. Brooke gives a nod that lets Vanessa know it’s her call. </p><p>“I think we should stay, Brooke,” Vanessa says quickly. “There’s no point driving in this or waiting for it to stop and driving home at midnight or something.” She appeals to reason, not wanting her fear to show. </p><p>Brooke agrees, her gaze softening as she takes in Vanessa. Vanessa suddenly realizes she’s folded up into herself, alert for the next crash of thunder. </p><p>Brooke’s mom smiles. “I’ll get the guest bed ready…” She heads down the hall and Brooke turns to Vanessa, eyes soft and tender. </p><p>“Are you sure you want to stay?” Brooke asks. “I don’t want you to think you have to.”</p><p>“I want to,” Vanessa insists. </p><p>Thunder rumbles and Vanessa jumps, curling into Brooke’s side on instinct. Brooke seems shocked at first, but softens into the touch.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” Brooke says softly. She lowers a tentative arm around Vanessa and her muscles unclench. “We’re safe in here.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Vanessa whispers. “I know it’s just a storm—“</p><p>“Don’t worry. Everyone’s afraid of something,” Brooke soothes. “I’m really afraid of flying. Small spaces too.” </p><p>Vanessa nods shakily. It’s so <i>embarrassing</i> to be scared of thunderstorms as an adult. No one judged her as a kid in her blanket nest, snuggling stuffed animals to protect her from the rain lashing at the windows. Even her brother would stop teasing and let her hold his favorite Batman action figure. Her mom would bring her hot chocolate and comfort her, and Vanessa shouldn’t need comfort anymore. But Brooke is offering it, holding her securely enough to fend off a storm herself, and Vanessa lets her, the safety of Brooke’s arms better than her childhood blankets. </p><p>When Brooke’s mom says the guest bed is ready, Vanessa thinks she would rather sleep in Brooke’s arms. </p><p>---</p><p>The guest bed is a cozy cloud of soft white cotton sheets, and Vanessa wants to jump right in. </p><p>Brooke grabs two pillows. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” she says, assembling a makeshift bed with the pillows and spare blankets. </p><p>“Oh, you don’t have to--”</p><p>“I don’t mind. Really,” Brooke insists. </p><p>Brooke’s gaze lingers on Vanessa, and Vanessa tries to catch all the feelings that flash across Brooke’s face. Does Brooke look...hopeful? Like she wants Vanessa to resist, pull her into the bed? Or is she hoping Vanessa lets her stay on the floor so they <i>don’t</i> have to sleep together? Is she worried about making Vanessa uncomfortable? Is <i>Brooke</i> uncomfortable? Vanessa doesn’t want to make Brooke uncomfortable, doesn’t want to force anything, so she agrees, wondering if that’s sadness or something else on Brooke’s face. Vanessa slides between the sheets, and the bed feels way too big with just her in it. </p><p>“It’s weird, sleeping in my parents’ house.” Brooke’s voice rings faintly from the floor, and Vanessa moves to the edge of the bed to hear her better. It reminds her of the sleepovers she had as a kid, snuggling in her <i>Little Mermaid</i> sleeping bag and sharing secrets with her friends, everything more exciting when it was past their bedtimes. </p><p>“Sleeping in other places doesn’t bother me,” Vanessa says. “I stayed at my parents’ last Christmas and slept like a baby. Even better than a baby.”</p><p>“Is the bed okay?” Brooke frets. “I can--”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Vanessa pauses. It could be the sleepover memories rubbing off, but she wants to talk with Brooke, talk all night about everything and nothing, in a way she hasn’t since she was thirteen. </p><p>“What were you like in school?” she asks, eager for more of the Brooke in that photo album, of the joy in her eyes that Vanessa recognizes now sometimes. </p><p>Brooke props herself up on her elbow and peeks up at Vanessa. “Quiet, mostly. You know how some kids just walked in a room and made friends?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Brooke sighs. “I couldn’t do that. I usually read by myself at recess, watching the other kids. I could never think of anything to say, and when I did it was either too late or I was too afraid to say it. I thought everyone would laugh at me. They usually did.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Vanessa breathes into the space between them. </p><p>Brooke shrugs. “It’s okay. I had some friends, but I didn’t mind being on my own. Or I got used to it, anyway. I don’t know if things would’ve been different if I wasn’t as nervous around people, y’know?”</p><p>“I get it,” Vanessa says. She would say more, but she knows it’s hard for Brooke to open up, and she doesn't want to push her. </p><p>“What were you like?” Brooke asks. </p><p>“I was funny. I made one joke and suddenly I was the class clown. I didn’t always want to be, though,” she admits. “I was smart. I loved reading, loved learning—when I could focus, cause ADHD’s a bitch. But everyone thought I was stupid, ‘cause I was so restless. That’s why I decided to keep being funny instead. I didn’t realize there’s no reason I couldn’t be both.” </p><p>She had been friends with everyone—cheerleaders, drama kids, honors students. She had cracked jokes in class and had the charm to win over anyone. But it had been exhausting at times--sometimes she just wanted to curl up in the library and read, but there was no escaping the funny, popular kid gig, no way to try new things or change herself. </p><p>“Right,” Brooke agrees. “It’s like you were stuck in a box. Whatever people called you, that’s what you were.” </p><p>Vanessa nods, because that’s <i>it</i>. Brooke always gets her, and it’s a relief to have that understanding. </p><p>“God, school sucked, didn’t it?” Vanessa mutters. “At least we never have to go back.”</p><p>“Shit, yes. You couldn’t pay me to do high school again.”</p><p>They keep talking--about school, about childhood, about themselves--until Vanessa’s not even aware of the rain anymore, until there’s nothing in the world but their secrets and laughs floating through the darkness. They keep talking until Brooke’s eyes start drooping, her words growing farther and farther apart as she drifts off around 2am, and Vanessa settles and tries to do the same. </p><p>But she can’t sleep. That hole in the mattress where Brooke should be is a hole in Vanessa’s heart. Why didn’t she insist Brooke get in the bed with her? Vanessa usually sleeps well, but her best sleep is always with someone there, with warmth and safety beside her.  </p><p>As a kid, she slept with her entire stuffed animal collection so no one felt left out. Through all her relationships, it was sleeping with someone that she loved the most--waking up in the night and feeling the safety of someone there, letting arms curve over her waist, the morning sun shining off her girlfriend’s face. There was such intimacy and tenderness in seeing someone sleep, seeing them so vulnerable and knowing that you loved them and would protect them. Maybe it’s better Brooke’s not next to her. Maybe it would bring up those feelings. </p><p>Vanessa peers down at Brooke. She’s curled up on her side, lips parted slightly. Vanessa’s heart beats in time with the gentle rise of Brooke’s chest. Sweet Brooke, who held her in the storm and always praised her and brought her coffee just because. Who always thinks of others first and never makes Vanessa do anything she’s uncomfortable with. </p><p>She looks at Brooke’s face, soft and untroubled and angelic in her sleep, and her heart swells, and shit, she knows that feeling. She tries to stop it, but it’s like using an umbrella for defense from a hurricane. She wants Brooke here, wants her warmth and intimacy because--</p><p>Because she’s in love with Brooke.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously: Vanessa realized she's in love with Brooke<br/>Now: She has to deal with her feelings as she falls more and more in love</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback! I really do appreciate it! I'd love if you could leave some more on this chapter! Thank you times 10,000 to Writ, for betaing and also all your help on this chapter. You're the best and I love you &lt;3 &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vanessa drifts off for an hour and wakes to the sight of a blanket and pillows neatly stacked at the foot of her bed. Her mind reels as she remembers last night. Maybe it was all just a dream. But she knows those blankets will smell like Brooke, and she knows it was real. </p><p>Why now? Why just when things are coming to an end does her heart decide to bust out of the cage Vanessa put it in, under strict convictions that she was <i>not</i> in love with Brooke? She might have locked her feelings up, but obviously she didn’t hide the key well enough. </p><p>Brooke’s been adamant that this is all fake. She had promised Vanessa that she wouldn’t keep asking this of her, keep making her pretend to be in love for her parents. The worst part is Vanessa doesn’t have to pretend anymore. </p><p>But she can’t do this. Brooke is her friend, and this <i>is</i> fake. There’s no need to confess her feelings and mess up what they have. Brooke doesn’t feel that way, and Vanessa tells herself being friends is enough. She takes a deep breath and heads down the hall. </p><p>Brooke is at the kitchen counter mixing something. Her face is soft and rumpled with sleep, hair in a loose ponytail, and maybe it’s the sun on her, but she’s never looked so beautiful. </p><p>“Thought I’d make pancakes,” Brooke says. “They’re pretty much the only thing I can make.”</p><p>“Can I help?” </p><p>“If you want.”</p><p>Vanessa turns on the coffee pot and gets the griddle ready, letting butter sizzle happily before they take turns spooning batter on and topping it with blueberries, watching it bubble up and fill the kitchen with warmth. For just a second, she wonders what it would be like to do this every day. Their coffee mugs side by side, having breakfast with sleepy-eyed Brooke each morning before heading to work. Vanessa forces the idea away. </p><p>She hops up on the kitchen counter, noting with satisfaction that she’s finally as tall as Brooke. This close, she can see Brooke focus as she tends to the pancakes, her tongue sticking out a little in concentration, and it’s hard not to reach out and stroke Brooke’s arms, pull her over to the counter and hold her close. </p><p>“Sleep okay?” Brooke asks quietly. </p><p>“Yeah,” Vanessa lies. “Told you, different beds don’t bother me.” It wasn’t the bed so much as not having Brooke in it. </p><p>She flicks flour at Brooke to change the subject. Brooke swipes batter down Vanessa’s nose, the touch making her shiver. She shrieks and Brooke lets out a snort, handing her a napkin.</p><p>There’s a gentle cough, and Vanessa looks up to see Brooke’s parents in the doorway, watching with enormous smiles. </p><p>Vanessa turns her attention to the floor as Brooke does the same with the sink. </p><p>Brooke’s parents slink over to the table, and Vanessa grabs the coffees while Brooke takes the pancakes and they all sit down together.</p><p>The levels of faking--internally pretending not to be in love with Brooke while outwardly pretending she is for Brooke’s parents’ sake--is messing with her head, and all she can focus on are her pancakes as everyone talks. She’s afraid one wrong word will give her away, that she’ll look at Brooke too long and be unable to hide it anymore. She’s quiet until they get ready to leave, when Brooke is in the bathroom and Brooke’s mom pulls Vanessa aside. </p><p>“We’re happy to have you and Brooke over anytime,” Brooke’s mom says warmly. She leans in like Brooke does when she’s sharing something, lowering her voice. “I’ve always worried about Brooke. She’s so shy, and she’s been alone so long. But you’re such a good fit for her. I love seeing her this happy.”</p><p>There’s a lump in Vanessa’s throat the size of a baseball, and the pancakes churn around like the sea in her stomach. Brooke’s mom will be so crushed when Brooke tells her they broke up. Vanessa plasters on a smile and tries not to think about it, tries to shrug off the guilt creeping into her shoulders. </p><p>“Me too,” she manages. </p><p>Luckily Brooke comes out then, and there’s a blur of hugs before they’re in the car, where Vanessa spends the longest car ride ever staring out the window when she wants to hold Brooke’s hand. </p><p>---</p><p>Brooke is a mess. </p><p>It’s Monday morning, and her inbox is overflowing but she can’t lift her head off the desk, the cool wood easing the burn of embarrassment and frustration in her cheeks. </p><p>Did she ruin everything this weekend? Should she just have braved the storm and driven her and Vanessa home? But Vanessa had been scared, almost terrified, smaller than she’d ever looked as she curled into herself, and Brooke couldn’t push it, couldn’t do anything until that fear had left Vanessa’s eyes. It had been instinct to hold her and soothe her fears away, and Brooke couldn’t rest until Vanessa felt better again.</p><p>It was that fear that led to Brooke sleeping on the guest room floor--her back is still aching, but she won’t tell Vanessa--and makes Brooke wonder if the rain had blown everything to pieces. </p><p>She didn’t want to just jump in the bed with Vanessa, didn’t want to make things awkward for her. Vanessa was already staying in a strange house, after all, with someone she was pretending to date. Brooke didn’t want her to think they had to sleep together just because of that. She’d never put Vanessa in that position, and it was easier to just take the floor, avoid the awkwardness of sharing a bed entirely. Except even as she arranged blankets, some part of Brooke <i>wanted</i> Vanessa to argue, to insist she get in the bed. Some part of her wanted to sleep with Vanessa, to see what it would be like to wake in the night and know she was there. Brooke hasn’t slept with someone in a while, and she wonders how it would have felt sleeping with Vanessa beside her. </p><p>But Vanessa wanted to sleep alone, and Brooke didn’t blame her, tried not to let the disappointment show. Brooke thought that was the end of it--but Vanessa was quiet the morning after, quiet the whole ride home. She didn’t change the radio station, or screech when they passed a cow, or keep adjusting the AC vent so it didn’t mess up her hair. Did Brooke do something wrong somehow?</p><p>Her phone rings so loud it makes her jump. Maybe she needs a hike soon. They always help clear her head. She heaves a sigh and answers the phone.</p><p>---</p><p>“Yvie, if you hit me with popcorn one more time--” Vanessa can’t finish her threat with kids around, but her death glare should send the message. Yvie thought today was a good day to test out the new popcorn machine she bought for the children’s room, and she better be the one vacuuming that rug after the kids devoured it. She’s taken to throwing pieces in the air and catching them in her mouth, but her aim sucks, and Vanessa digs another kernel out of her hair. </p><p>“What’s up with you today?” A’keria asks. </p><p>“Nothing.” Vanessa doubts the lie fools anyone. She’s supposed to be cutting out tickets for the carnival, but her movements are sluggish, her arms too heavy to lift. Even the air feels heavier than normal, crushing her down. </p><p>“Did something happen with Brooke this weekend?” Yvie comes over and smoothly takes the tickets away from Vanessa, doing the work herself. </p><p>“Can we not talk about it?” She doesn’t have the energy for this today, doesn’t have the desire to crack her heart back open. </p><p>“Of course.” A’keria rubs her hands together, deep in thought. She’s always good at distracting upset kids, giving them something to focus on while Vanessa got toys to cheer them up. Now Vanessa is the upset kid, but she can’t even argue. “Bets on Paul acting a fool at the carnival?”</p><p>“That’s not a bet, it’s a guarantee,” Yvie says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he dresses as a clown.”</p><p>“Did you know Silky and I dressed as clowns for Halloween one year?” A’keria asks. </p><p>“The point of Halloween is to wear a costume, not your normal clothes, you know,” Yvie says, launching into her laugh that makes Vanessa smile. </p><p>“Bets on Silky wearing a clown suit?” Vanessa asks, more grateful for her friends than ever. </p><p>---</p><p>The library parking lot has been transformed into a mini-carnival, minus the rides.There’s food trucks lining the street and bright tents for games and sweaty kids running around showing off prizes. The air is alive with laughter and salty popcorn and oily fried foods, and Brooke lets last weekend go, lets herself enjoy being with Vanessa. Vanessa seems more herself today, smiling with her hair pulled back in two long braids and heart-shaped sunglasses perched on top of her head. She talks passionately about kids literacy programs and praises kids for their prizes. Brooke can see how proud she is of all this, how happy her job makes her. It warms her heart to see Vanessa get so excited, talk so fast about things she loves. </p><p>Brooke peeks at the fake ring she’s wearing to keep up appearances for Vanessa’s co-workers. Brooke favors simple hoop earrings or necklaces at work, rings just too constricting on her fingers. She adjusts the ring, and it’s not as tight as it was last time. It almost feels like it fits. </p><p>“This is nice,” Brooke says.</p><p>“Yeah. I wish there could be some rides, though,” Vanessa says. “Anything but Ferris wheels.” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m not a fan of them either.” </p><p>Vanessa nods in approval. “They’re so slow! You’re up there forever and there’s nothing to do but look down. Once when I was five, my brother said I was a chicken if I didn’t go on with him, and I’m no chicken, so I went. This was after I ate pizza, a churro, and ice cream, mind you.” Vanessa shakes her head, and Brooke knows what’s coming. “I puked on his favorite Nikes and haven’t been on one since.” </p><p>Brooke snorts, imagining tiny Vanessa marching up to the Ferris wheel to prove she’s not a chicken.</p><p>“I’m surprised you met the height requirements.”</p><p>“Hey! It was a kiddie Ferris wheel, and I was more than tall enough!”</p><p>She tugs Brooke along to the face paint booth, planting her in the chair in front of A’keria. </p><p>“I can’t do a dinosaur,” A’keria says, like Brooke’s a little kid. “I’m good, but not that good.” </p><p>Brooke shrugs, looks at the sheet of designs. “Maybe a rainbow?” </p><p>“You got it.” </p><p>Brooke lets A’keria’s tiny paint brush tickle her cheek, Vanessa smiling at her all the while. </p><p>“You sit still better than Vanessa,” A’keria says. </p><p>“Hey!” Vanessa pouts, but she takes her turn and can’t stop squirming as A’keria works.</p><p>“I rest my case,” A’keria mutters like a long-suffering parent. </p><p>“Thumb war?” Brooke suggests to Vanessa, thinking it might give her something to focus on. “That’s what me and my sister did in the car when we got bored.” </p><p>Vanessa smiles. “Me and my brother too.” </p><p>Her hand meets Vanessa’s, the touch sending a buzz up Brooke’s arm like lightning, their thumbs twisting all over until Brooke forces Vanessa’s down. She forces herself to tear her hand away, rather than leaving it intertwined with Vanessa’s.</p><p>“You have longer fingers!” She complains, but all the outrage flies out of her after A’keria shows her the rainbow in a little mirror. Vanessa makes them take a picture of their matching rainbows and sends it to her, and it takes all Brooke’s willpower not to make the image her lock screen (sorry, Henry and Apollo) right this second.</p><p>“Brooke, are you gonna win your wife a stuffed animal?” Vanessa’s friend Silky appears out of nowhere with a huge grin on her face.</p><p>“Oh, uh…” Silky and Vanessa’s other friends drag her to the bottle toss, run by a bored, underpaid teenager. A small crowd forms, Paul included, and Brooke’s neck is damp with sweat. Sports aren’t her thing. Her parents signed her up for soccer when she was five and she endured a year of setting up cones and foot-squeezing cleats and sticky orange slices—the only good part—at half-time, until her parents let her take dance lessons instead.</p><p>Brooke hasn’t attempted a sport since, but she can’t back down. Not when Vanessa is inspecting stuffed animals for her prize. Brooke has to win <i>something</i> for her, even if it’s a small prize instead of a giant one. It’s cheesy, but winning someone a prize is something she always wanted to do, watching them squeeze a giant stuffed animal and knowing she had won it for them, hoping they’d think of her whenever they held it. There was no chance of taking a girl to a carnival when Brooke was in high school, and maybe she can make up for it now.  </p><p>The baseball is too heavy in Brooke’s hand, the stack of bottles too far away. Can she calculate the distance or something physics-related to make the shot? God, she hates physics. She rubs the ball on her shirt and practices throwing, her leg awkwardly swinging with her arm, muscle memory from ballet years ago. Her first throw hits the wall and the tower doesn’t even sway, a groan coming from the crowd. The second one comes closer, but nothing. She’s down to her last chance, and Brooke gulps as she reaches for the third ball--</p><p>But Vanessa is launching it through the air, and bottles tumble with a mighty <i>crash</i>. </p><p>Brooke blinks at her. “How--”</p><p>Vanessa is much too smug. “You’re looking at a former Little League all-star.”</p><p>Brooke laughs so hard she has to clutch at her stomach, because the image of young Vanessa with her ponytail sticking out of a baseball cap is maybe the most perfect thing Brooke can imagine. Vanessa picks a small stuffed pig for her prize, and Brooke gasps when Vanessa’s arms fling around her in a hug. Her coworkers are around, so it’s probably part of the act but Brooke doesn’t care, throwing her arms around Vanessa and breathing her in. </p><p>“Sorry I couldn’t win for you,” she whispers. </p><p>“You tried,” Vanessa says, and Brooke squeezes her and never wants to let go.</p><p>--- </p><p>“You're really gonna sit here with a straight face and tell us the carnival was fake?” Silky asks, her expression incredulous. </p><p>Vanessa shrugs and turns her attention to Thackery, sprawled out sleeping in her lap. She wishes she could take a nap right here and avoid what Silky is turning into an interrogation, the couch cushion Vanessa’s sunk into becoming a witness stand. A’keria even pauses the reality show they’ve all been watching, and Vanessa knows this is now a <i>talk</i>. </p><p>“That’s the only thing about her that <i>is</i> straight,” A’keria says. “Matching rainbow face paint? Her winning you a stuffed animal? Come on, V. We know how you get when you’re in love.”</p><p>“I won that pig myself, thank you.” She’s been holding it when she sleeps, because it reminds her of hugging Brooke. </p><p>A’keria rolls her eyes. “Forget the pig! The way you hugged her--”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter, okay?” It comes out harsher than Vanessa intends, and she cringes. “This whole fake relationship thing is done. Brooke doesn’t like me like that. We’re just friends.”</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“She slept on the floor so she didn’t have to share a bed with me,” Vanessa says. Her chest still aches with the emptiness of that night, staring up at the ceiling fan and wishing Brooke was next to her. What would have happened if she had insisted? Would Brooke still have ended up on the floor, or would she have settled beside Vanessa? Would their arms have brushed against each other, would the night have become something more?</p><p>There’s too many unknowns. But Brooke doesn’t love her. Vanessa is positive about that. </p><p>“Well, maybe she didn’t want to make things weird.” A’keria and Silky are trying, Vanessa gives them that. But there’s no point. </p><p>“Look, if I tell her, it could ruin everything. I’d rather be her friend than nothing. I can’t lose her.” She doesn’t want to be without Brooke. It will hurt this way, sure, to look at her lips and not be able to kiss them, to see those eyes sparkle but not be able to see them sleepy in the morning or softened in bed, to hear her laugh sometimes but not every day. But it’s better than not having those things--not having <i>Brooke</i>--in her life at all. </p><p>“Maybe someday you could tell her?” A’keria suggests. </p><p>Vanessa shrugs. She wants to tell Brooke more than anything. But some of Brooke is better than no Brooke, and if it takes her silence to keep Brooke, Vanessa won’t say a word. </p><p>---</p><p>It’s her first weekend without plans with Vanessa--no babysitting, no thrifting, no dinner--and Brooke doesn’t know what to do with herself. She can do anything she wants, but that freedom she usually craves is scary and overwhelming today, a free-fall through empty space that was once occupied by Vanessa. Brooke’s always made time to have a day to herself, on the couch in sweats with the cats, but now that she has one it feels odd not to have something with Vanessa planned. </p><p>Brooke didn’t realize until now just how much she’d come to count on their weekends, how much she liked having that time with Vanessa. Even if it wasn’t anything special, just being with her made it special. It’s rare for her to find someone she enjoys more than her own company, rare to find someone she could be herself around, and Vanessa happens to be one of those people. </p><p>She thinks of texting Vanessa, asking what she’s up to, but maybe she should leave this weekend alone. They’re still friends and everything, but maybe they both need a break after so much time together pretending to date. She knows Vanessa does stuff with her friends on the weekends, and she won’t ruin that for her. </p><p>Brooke burrows into the couch. Next week she’ll go on a hike, but maybe a quiet introvert weekend is what she needs now. Her head is heavy with thoughts of Vanessa, with worry over if she wrecked things, and she needs to not think for a while. </p><p>She curls up with the cats and manages to drift into a nap, the peace of it hijacked by her subconscious when she dreams of nothing but Vanessa. </p><p>---</p><p>“How the hell did you talk me into this?” Vanessa asks, the mountain looming above them. </p><p>“You’re the one who wanted to come!” Brooke protests. </p><p>Vanessa shrugs, because that’s fair. After a week of casual texting and playing it cool, she had asked Brooke her weekend plans. When she found out that Brooke was going for a hike by herself, her mind flooded with images of Brooke falling or getting hurt, all alone with no one to help her, and there was no way Vanessa could let her go alone. </p><p>It seemed like a good idea at the time. </p><p>Now, they’re at the base of a small, twisty mountain bursting with trees, and Vanessa hopes her bright pink Nikes are up to the job. Hopes <i>she’s</i> up to the job. Brooke assured her it’s an easy trail, the first one Brooke ever did, with a nice spot up top for them to have a little picnic. </p><p>Brooke fiddles with her backpack of picnic stuff, and at least staring at Brooke in her hiking gear is part of this. Broken-in hiking boots curve around her feet, her long legs and arms exposed in her shorts and T-shirt, hair up in a neat ponytail. It’s unfair, really, how Brooke looks beautiful without even trying.</p><p>“Ready?” Brooke asks. </p><p>Vanessa nods, eager to show Brooke she can do this. Brooke put up with all her friends at the carnival, and Vanessa wants to do something that’s more in Brooke’s element, show Brooke that their friendship means enough to her that she’ll climb this big-ass mountain. </p><p>They pass a tiny stream at the mountain’s base and Vanessa can’t stop herself from running over to a pile of stones. </p><p>“Wait!” She calls to Brooke. </p><p>“Tired already?” Brooke teases. </p><p>Vanessa sticks her tongue out and picks up a rock.</p><p>“Do you know how to skip rocks?” </p><p>“I’m okay at it,” Brooke says, and Vanessa knows that means she’s good at it but doesn’t want to brag.</p><p>“Can you show me? I can never do it.” </p><p>Brooke nods and slips behind her, one hand light on her hip, a ghost’s touch, the other hand curling around Vanessa’s own. Brooke’s hands are so special. Her skin is pale like ice with rivers of veins flowing underneath. Her hands are sure and confident when she points out fossils in the museum or paths on the trail, yet tremble and fidget when she’s unsure of herself. Those hands are strong enough to protect Vanessa from a storm but gentle enough to dig for fossils, to stroke a cat’s fur, to braid hair. Brooke’s hands help her skip the stone so it ripples through the stream three times, and Vanessa wants to hold that hand for the rest of her life. </p><p><i>Tell her</i>. The thought pops into her head. <i>Tell Brooke you love her</i>. It’s the perfect day for it. The sun kisses at their skin, the sky a clear blue, and they’re about to climb a mountain and have a picnic. This day was practically made for love, and Vanessa <i>has</i> to tell her. If she doesn’t do it now, she'll never do it, and her heart isn't meant for silence. Brooke’s hand linger against hers, and it’s another sign that now is right. </p><p>Each step brings Vanessa closer and closer, dodging sticks and kicking rocks, not even the bumpy, mud-flecked path enough to stop her. She keeps pace with Brooke even though her legs are much shorter, climbing in an easy silence punctuated by their breathing, with little stops along the way to sip water and marvel at the flowers. By the time they reach the top, she’s bouncing in her sneakers. </p><p>“Vanessa?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Look,” Brooke breathes, nudging her up to the edge of the mountain, and Vanessa gasps. </p><p>The entire world is spread out below them, sun sparkling off the stream running through the valley and so much green everywhere--trees and shrubs and all kinds of plants that she doesn’t know, but that take her breath away just the same. They’re only half an hour from the city, but this feels like another world, another time, and she should’ve done this sooner. </p><p>Vanessa loved the outdoors when she was little, rolling in the grass and climbing the big tree in the backyard. She and her brother spent hours out there playing catch, practicing wrestling moves, wearing their dad’s belts and pretending to be Batman and Robin (he always got to be Batman because he was <i>older</i>) until their mom called them in, groaning over their grass-stained clothes. There’s something about all these trees around her that feel like childhood, that joyful part of her she tries to keep in shape but is maybe a little dusty these days. Here, that part thrives. </p><p>She looks at Brooke who has the same wonder in her eyes and Vanessa almost kisses her right there. But she can wait until after lunch. She’s waited this long, after all.</p><p>There’s a flat grassy patch over to the side, and Brooke lays down a plaid blanket and gets out waters and sandwiches, passing them to Vanessa. </p><p>“Orange?” Brooke offers. </p><p>Vanessa nods, expecting Brooke to hand her a whole orange. Instead, there’s a tiny container with the orange already peeled and sliced, and it shouldn’t be a big deal but it is. Brooke took the time to peel the orange and separate the slices for her, packed it all into a little container <i>just for Vanessa</i>. Brooke did this for her when she didn’t have to, and it almost makes Vanessa not want to eat the orange, but keep the little slices forever. Brooke is watching though, so she takes one and lets the juice dribble down her chin. </p><p>“You ever put the whole slice in your mouth and smile with it?” Vanessa asks. </p><p>“Of course I did.”</p><p>Vanessa flashes an orange-segment smile at Brooke. Brooke shoots one right back and Vanessa falls a little more in love with her. </p><p>They pack up their stuff and Vanessa wants one last look at the valley below. She climbs up on a little rock for the perfect view one more time. </p><p>“Look, I’m taller than you,” she teases Brooke. </p><p>“Please be careful,” Brooke says, genuine worry in her voice. Vanessa steps off the rock but she misses a step somewhere, and suddenly she’s falling, the stony ground rushing up to meet her--</p><p>She lands in Brooke’s arms, Brooke looking down at her in concern, asking if she’s okay. Vanessa doesn’t answer, but goes in for the kiss, only to never meet Brooke’s lips. Because Brooke is letting go of her and stepping back with fear in her eyes. She’s <i>scared</i>, scared of Vanessa and her kiss, and Vanessa never wants Brooke to be scared of anything, wants to fight away all her fears. Being the reason Brooke is scared is like a knife in Vanessa’s heart.  </p><p>“Brooke--”</p><p>“V-Vanessa, what are you—“</p><p>“I was trying to kiss you,” Vanessa whispers, each word cutting her throat on the way out. </p><p>Brooke is shaking her head, eyes wide, breath coming in frantic pants. “No, I-it’s too fast, I can’t.” Brooke is trembling now, gasping for air she can’t seem to get even though there’s nothing but air around them. </p><p>“But Brooke, it doesn’t have to be fast,”  Vanessa begs, trying to keep things from falling apart, trying to get Brooke to understand that she’ll take this slow, that she’ll never hurt her. </p><p>But Brooke is still shaking her head. Her hands are trembling, her whole self unraveling before Vanessa’s eyes. “I can’t, Vanessa. I just can’t.” She runs over to a tree and braces herself against it, turning her back to Vanessa as her shoulders heave. </p><p>Brooke is upset and it’s all Vanessa’s fault, all because she had to confess her feelings, and now she’s ruined everything. She came on too strong, too fast, and tears spring in her eyes because she knows she’s lost Brooke. Brooke doesn’t love her back and never will. Their connection, their bond--neither was enough for Brooke to love her too. She wipes her tears away hastily. She doesn’t want to cry here, in front of the person who doesn’t love her. She won’t. </p><p>She watches Brooke slowly get her breathing under control and knows this is the end of trading work stories. She watches Brooke adjust her backpack and knows they’ll never have another movie night. She watches Brooke re-tie her shoe and knows that there will never be another dinner of trying each other’s food and laughing.</p><p>They walk down the mountain and drive home in utter silence, and Vanessa runs inside her apartment without a look back, buries herself in bed, and cries.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously: Vanessa's plan to kiss Brooke didn't work out as Brooke pulled away from her<br/>Now: Brooke and Vanessa both struggle without each other as they grapple with their feelings</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Really sorry about the ending last chapter! There's a little more angst in this one, and then that's it, I promise! I really hope you enjoy, and I'd appreciate any more feedback you have! The comments you've left are so amazing. Thank you so so much to Writ for betaing and helping with this one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brooke doesn’t get out of bed for the rest of the weekend. She sleeps and wakes and regrets, rolls over and does it all again, with breaks in between to stare at the picture from the carnival, wondering if she should delete it, try to erase the last few months from her mind. She has no idea what time or even what day it is, until her almost-dead phone buzzes with a text from Nina. </p><p>
  <i>Nina: Are we still doing breakfast today?</i>
</p><p>Shit. It must be Sunday, then. </p><p>There’s no way Brooke can get up and have breakfast and pretend nothing is wrong. She just wants to stay burrowed into this pillow, wrap herself in sheets of sorrow and regret. </p><p>
  <i>Brooke: Sorry, don’t think I can. Not feeling great. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Nina: You’re sick? </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Nina: You never get sick. </i>
</p><p><i>Nina: Want me to come check on you? I can bring soup.</i> </p><p>Brooke winces. Nina is always so nice, nicer than Brooke deserves. If Brooke tells her what happened, Nina will be too nice, will comfort her and offer advice, and Brooke just can’t bear all that sympathy heaped on her today. </p><p>
  <i>Brooke: I’m fine, don’t worry about coming over. Just tired. Need to sleep.</i>
</p><p>She can picture Nina arguing with herself over insisting on taking care of Brooke, nursing her back to health, or leaving her to sleep. </p><p>
  <i>Nina: Let me know if you need anything. Get some rest.</i>
</p><p>She loses the phone in the bed somewhere and closes her eyes again. But all she can see is the pain on Vanessa’s face as Brooke backed away from her. That was the only option, though. Brooke is sure of it. </p><p>Obviously Vanessa sees her as more than a friend. It makes Brooke’s heart race, but they’re just friends. Just friends, and it wasn’t right to kiss her back, lead her on like that. The kiss could’ve turned into something more, could’ve become a relationship, and Brooke’s not ready for that. She can’t lead Vanessa into a relationship she’s unsure of, because that’s not fair to her. It was too much, too fast, and Brooke couldn’t do that to Vanessa. But she knows it hurt Vanessa, and it’s making her own chest hurt, hurt so much she can’t even move. </p><p>Why does it hurt so much if that was the right thing to do?</p><p>Why did trying to protect Vanessa’s heart crush her own?</p><p>She can’t text Vanessa and try to fix things after such a big fuck-up, and she knows Vanessa won’t text her. Why would she, after Brooke hurt her like that? It’s over now. All of it. She’ll never watch Vanessa try on ugly thrift store sweater vests. They won’t laugh over coffee again. All the talking they’ve done, sharing things Brooke hasn’t told anyone, Vanessa understanding her like no one else--it was all for nothing, and it’s all over now. </p><p>Brooke rolls over again, but she doesn’t sleep.</p><p>---</p><p>Vanessa spends her weekend equally punching her pillow and crying into it.</p><p>A’keria plays mother hen for a while, bringing her tea and toast and talking to distract her. On Sunday morning Vanessa croaks out that she wants to be alone, and A’keria’s footsteps go away and don’t come back, and Vanessa feels worse than she did with A’keria hovering and trying to help. She hates being alone, but she doesn’t want to call A’keria back. And she better get used to being alone. </p><p>She’s out of tissues and her eyes are out of tears, breaths no longer hiccupy. She wishes her mom was here, but she’s visiting Vanessa’s brother. Vanessa needs her to come back so she can cry into her mom’s shoulder while her mom strokes her hair. </p><p>She rolls over and there’s the ring on her bedside table, mocking her. She should have never bought it in the first place. This mess never would have happened if she just left it at the thrift store where it belonged, let it ruin someone else’s life. She reaches over with a grunt and blindly hurls the ring out into the hallway, relishing in the <i>ping</i> of it against the wall. </p><p>She turns to her dresser, but there’s the Mary Oliver book Brooke gave her, the neatly-written note thanking her still tucked inside. Vanessa would throw that too, but she doesn’t want to get up, and she can’t throw a book. Not when she spends so many hours reading and re-shelving them. </p><p>This hurts worse than any break-up, and it’s not even a <i>real</i> break-up. This whole thing was supposed to fake. But Vanessa had to go fall in love with Brooke, who saw things as fake, like they were <i>supposed</i> to be. Life isn’t some rom-com where everyone lives happily ever after. This is her real life, her real heart that will never meet anyone who makes it stir like Brooke did. </p><p>It’s her own fault. She always falls too hard, too fast, can’t stop it. She should have waited instead of just throwing herself at Brooke on top of a mountain, but her heart wouldn’t listen, couldn’t be content with just being Brooke’s friend. She wanted to be in a relationship with Brooke so bad it ruined their friendship. Her heart had to be greedy, had to go for that kiss. It’s not the first time the damn thing’s gotten her in trouble. </p><p>It was her heart that got itchy poison ivy all over her legs when she was seven and trying to help an injured bird in the woods, that whole summer scented with calamine lotion. It was her heart that led her to blurt out Jessica’s name when asked who her crush was in middle school Truth or Dare, brushing it off as a joke and saying some popular boy’s name seconds after everyone stared at her. Her heart always leaps out of her chest and latches onto someone too quickly to stop it, too quickly to protect herself.</p><p>It would be easier if she had no heart, maybe. There wouldn’t be any pain where she thinks of Brooke’s laugh, or that time she made Brooke run in the grocery store with her and push her on the cart. No pain when she thinks of Brooke’s terrified eyes on the mountain, like Vanessa’s almost-kiss had ripped the ground from under her and left her falling all alone. She can’t claw the pain out, but she can dull it, so she shoves a pillow over her head and tries to sleep. </p><p>But all she does is dream of Brooke.</p><p>—-</p><p>Brooke supposes general misery isn’t a good excuse for missing work, and with the exhibit this Saturday, she really can’t take a day off anyway. Besides, it beats staying home with her thoughts and weekday marathons of some show about librarians that reminds her of Vanessa. </p><p>Usually when she comes to work, strolling past that stegosaurus fossil and plopping in her desk chair, her brain is fully alive. She reads through reports and analyzes possible collection additions and doesn’t even realize it's lunch time until her stomach growls. </p><p>But the past few days, her mind stalls when she tries to focus, her whole body sluggish. It’s not like her to struggle like this. The clock stands still, and she reads the same email four times and still doesn’t grasp a word of it. There are five new ones in its place when she finishes like an email hydra, plus three unanswered voicemails and a sticky note reminding her to call and confirm the cake for the exhibit. Brooke pushes her chair back and sighs. </p><p>Everything is just too much right now, like trying to stay afloat in a whirlpool. How can she possibly get something as important as this exhibit together when she couldn’t even keep a friendship—one of the best she’s had—intact? </p><p>The office she loves so much, her home away from home, is suffocating her today. She needs to get out of here, needs air. </p><p>Maybe coffee will perk her up a little. She heads to a different cafe, not the one she’s been to with Vanessa. She opens the door just as Vanessa is stepping out. She must have had the same idea, to come to a neutral place without memories, a place where they didn’t make their agreement and split a giant cupcake once. </p><p>Brooke burns with guilt. It’s only been a few days since they haven’t seen each other, but it might have been years for how Brooke’s heart races. Vanessa’s not doing well, Brooke can tell. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, eyes cloaked with dark circles, her pink lipstick missing. It hits Brooke right in her heart. She hates seeing Vanessa upset, and it’s <i>her</i> fault Vanessa is hurting like this. Maybe it’s fate that brought them here. Maybe she can make it right. </p><p>Brooke’s throat is drier than a desert. “Vanessa,” she tries.</p><p>Vanessa shakes her head and steps around Brooke, quickly gone down the street. </p><p>Gone. Again. </p><p>Brooke’s fault. Again. </p><p>It’s really over, just like that. Vanessa won’t talk to her, can barely look at her. Brooke really has lost her. Not just their friendship, but Vanessa herself. She’s lost Vanessa’s deep, booming laugh. Lost her stories, lost her comfort that never made Brooke feel alone. Lost Vanessa’s hugs, the way she’d rest her face against Brooke’s chest. </p><p>Does it hurt this much because Vanessa is more than a friend to her? </p><p>Does Brooke love--</p><p>Brooke can’t be here anymore. She gets back to the museum and takes the afternoon off before running to her car and just driving, nowhere and anywhere. To a place that isn’t here. </p><p>Without meaning to, she finds herself at her mom’s. Her mom answers the door and Brooke is crying before she gets any words out. She’s shaking, and she lets her mom take her inside and rest her on the couch before sobbing into her shoulder. It’s been a while since she all-out sobbed like this. Brooke tries to remember how long it’s been. There was the stupid eighth grade dance she’d been forced into attending, ending with Brooke crying in the bathroom because one popular boy kissed a popular girl and she didn’t understand why she was so jealous of him for kissing her. Before that was when she came in second in the fifth grade spelling bee (she still has a grudge against rhinoceroses) and cried so much her mom took her for ice cream to cheer her up. By the time high school started, she was sick of her sister calling her a crybaby, and she vowed not to cry as much. </p><p>Her mom holds her, and Brooke knows she doesn’t deserve the comfort but takes it all the same, knows she’s safe in her mom’s arms. “Brooke, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“I lost her,” Brooke wheezes into her mom’s shirt. </p><p>“Lost who? Vanessa?” Her mom asks. “Did you break up?”</p><p>“We were never together,” Brooke wails, breaths shaky. She should be relieved to tell the truth, for all the time she spent stressing over her and Vanessa passing as a couple, wondering how she’d tell her parents they broke up. Instead, it just solidifies that not only is what she had with Vanessa over, but that it was never real in the first place. Can she really lose Vanessa if they were never together?</p><p>Her mom pulls away then, and Brooke looks into her confused eyes. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Brooke wipes her raw eyes and takes a deep breath, tries to keep her voice from cracking. “Vanessa got caught in this lie at work and needed someone to pretend to be her wife. So I did it, and then she wanted to return the favor, so I asked if she would pretend to be my girlfriend when I brought her here. It was only supposed to be one dinner, but you really liked her and we had to come back.”</p><p>“Brooke--”</p><p>“You always say you’re worried about me being alone,” Brooke sniffs. “I just didn’t want you to worry anymore.”</p><p>Her mom pulls her into a hug, gently rubbing her back, and it’s like Brooke is five again, with her mom sitting in the rickety old rocking chair she still has, rubbing Brooke’s back to soothe her into sleep after she woke sweating and crying from a nightmare, sheets twisted around her as she tried to run from darkness and monsters all by herself.  </p><p>“Brooke,” her mom starts gently, “I always worry about you. I’m your mom. But I just want you to be happy. I don’t want you to think being alone is your only option because you’re so used to it. You don’t need another person to be happy. But if someone makes you happy, why not be with them?” </p><p>It makes sense, but Brooke shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter now. I ruined everything.” </p><p>“What happened? Why is it ruined?” Her mom asks gently. </p><p>“It was fake the whole time. It was supposed to be, anyway. But we started spending a lot of time together and we became good friends. Except Vanessa tried to kiss me, and I panicked. Told her it was too fast and I couldn’t do it. I mean...we’re just friends. I don’t know if I love her that way, so it wouldn’t have been fair to kiss her. Now we’re nothing. Not even friends.” </p><p>“Well, do you know how you feel now? Do you love her?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Brooke insists. It’s the truth, and the uncertainty swirls around in her chest. Brooke doesn’t know if her feelings have changed in a week, doesn’t know if the love she has for Vanessa as a friend is the same love a girlfriend would deserve. How does anyone know <i>for sure</i> they’re in love? Why can’t a giant sign drop out of the sky and tell Brooke if she’s in love or not?</p><p>“I think you do know.”</p><p>Brooke shrugs helplessly, turning away from her mother’s knowing expression. Because deep down she does know. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment that things changed—it’s more so a bunch of tiny moments, moments that seemed small but that she knows are much bigger. The way Vanessa always listens when she talks, always understands. How she made Brooke laugh so hard she spit out coffee once. That time Vanessa brought her cookies that she tried to shape into dinosaurs, even if they looked more like horses. How she stopped at the grocery store with Vanessa once and Vanessa caused an avalanche of goldfish crackers that she’d insisted on getting from the top shelf on her own, grumbling that the store purposely put the good stuff on top. The babysitting and dinners and time together just added to those feelings, feelings Brooke hasn’t fully accepted or understood until now. How happy and warm she is around Vanessa aren’t just friendship. </p><p>She loves Vanessa. </p><p>She loves Vanessa, and it took losing her to see that. Now it’s too late, and it brings a fresh wave of tears, her lip quivering. </p><p>“Even if I do, it doesn’t matter. I blew it, and it’s over. End of story.” </p><p>“I don’t think so. Sometimes you mess up, Brooke, but sometimes you can go back and fix it. If you really do love her, and she really loves you, I think you can work it out.”</p><p>Brooke shrugs again. She wants to believe that, but doesn’t know if she can.  “But...it’s scary. To love someone. To be in a relationship.” She hugs her knees to her chest, still a little kid. This would be the first real relationship she’s had in a year, and she doesn’t know if she’s ready for the changes it would bring. </p><p>“Maybe it is. But it doesn’t have to be.” </p><p>It’s so similar to what Vanessa said about love not being a chore with the right person that Brooke wonders if it’s a sign. She nods.</p><p>Her mother smiles at her. “Brooke, of the girls you’ve brought home, I’ve never seen you happier than you are with Vanessa. You were so <i>natural</i> together. There’s something there, and I think you can fix it.”</p><p>But what does it mean if she does fix it, tell Vanessa the truth? A relationship? She can imagine their future together in theory, cooking together and cuddling during movies, or going to the zoo to see the new red pandas, but can she take the steps to get there?</p><p>Most of what they have is already a relationship, Brooke thinks. She remembers the arm Vanessa threw around her their first time as fake wives, her way of making it look like a real relationship. But relationships aren’t just physical, aren’t just touching or kissing. It’s the way they had cooked together, letting their bodies flow around each other. The way they talked for hours, any self-consciousness fading away. How Brooke sees something funny or something that makes her happy and instantly thinks of Vanessa, wanting to share it with her. </p><p><i>I don’t want you to think being alone is your only option because you’re so used to it</i>, her mom had said. </p><p>Brooke <i>is</i> used to it. She’s been independent most of her life, doing things she wanted herself. She likes being able to roll over and hog the blankets. She likes buying a box of cookies and knowing they’ll all still be there the next day, no sneaky fingers stealing them. She likes watching whatever she wants, no one there to judge her when <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> starts for the hundredth time. </p><p>But on the other side of that...someone to keep you warm, a reason you didn’t need the whole blanket. Someone to grocery shop with, worth sharing cookies with. Someone to watch a movie with, cuddling on the couch with popcorn. </p><p>She’s been alone so long that it’s scary to open herself up, put herself out there. But if she really does love Vanessa, why deny herself that happiness out of fear? </p><p>If she was going to have a relationship with anyone, it would be Vanessa. </p><p>Brooke stands up, steadies her uneven breathing, and wipes every last tear. </p><p>“I love Vanessa,” she says. It’s the first time it’s left her mouth and it feels so <i>right</i>. Like Brooke’s lips have just been waiting to say those words. </p><p>Her mom smiles. </p><p>“And I’m gonna get her back,” Brooke vows. </p><p>---</p><p>Vanessa is shaking when she gets back from her lunch break. What are the freaking odds that she’d have to run into Brooke? Just her luck, apparently. </p><p>All week, she’s managed, but not much beyond that. She’s shelved books and cut out construction paper lightsabers and just kept breathing, got through a minute at a time. If she really focused, she could go a few minutes without thinking of Brooke, and it was a damn victory. </p><p>But now Vanessa had to see her today. Brooke looked exhausted, like she’s barely slept this week, and Vanessa doesn’t want to be mean, but she’s almost glad. If her heart has been shredded this week, Brooke can suffer too. </p><p>“V.” A’keria coaxes Vanessa into the office, handing her a tissue and not reacting to Vanessa’s confused stare.  Vanessa doesn’t know why A’keria is giving it to her, why she thinks Vanessa needs it, until… </p><p>Bringing a hand to her face, she feels the dampness on her cheeks and sucks in a ragged breath. </p><p>“I’m fine,” she insists. </p><p>A’keria stares at her pointedly, saying nothing, and Vanessa’s resolve crumbles.</p><p>“I’m not fine.” she grumbles, sitting lower in the chair and letting A’keria pat her shoulder. “I just...I loved her. And she doesn’t love me back.” </p><p>“Do you think if you’re this upset that maybe it means you should try to work things out with her?” A’keria asks quietly. </p><p>Vanessa shakes her head. “You weren’t there when I tried to kiss her. She was totally freaked out. There’s no way she wants me after that.”</p><p>“But maybe a freak out was all it was. Maybe she just panicked and needed time to think.”</p><p>“She needed <i>time</i> to think of whether she loves me or not?” Vanessa snaps. “Shouldn’t that just be something you know?”</p><p>A’keria shrugs. “Well, you didn’t know you were in love right away, either.”</p><p>Vanessa sighs. Damn A’keria turning into the voice of reason all of a sudden. But she can’t. She can’t take the chance of her heart being blown apart again, of putting herself through the pain of Brooke refusing her again. Vanessa can hardly look at her without her heart tearing and eyes watering. </p><p>She gets up. “Look, I’m gonna go work. I don’t want to think about this anymore.”</p><p>A’keria nods, and Vanessa marches out to the desk and starts to clean out her emails. She’s fine. She’s focused and she’s fine. Until she sees a tiny head hovering near the desk. </p><p>“Miss Vanessa, do you know what dinosaur this is?” The kid holds up a coloring sheet for her to see.</p><p>Why, of all the coloring sheets the library has--elephants and giraffes and superheroes and every singing creature Disney has to offer--did this kid have to pick a dinosaur? The universe really hates her today. </p><p>She looks down at the coloring, neat for a kid, and gasps. She knows the name, doesn’t even have to Google it, all because of Brooke. She barely chokes out that it’s a spinosaurus before she runs back in the break room and cries. </p><p>---</p><p>“You’re really not gonna go?” A’keria asks. </p><p>Vanessa shakes her head. The T-Rex exhibit opening is an hour away, and though just weeks ago she and Brooke had a fashion show to pick their outfits, she’s not moving off this couch tonight. </p><p>She should go, she knows it. Brooke has worked so hard, was so excited about it and how important it is for the museum. She should go, out of respect for Brooke and all her hard work, to hear her voice rise a few octaves the way it does when she’s excited.</p><p>But if she goes, she’ll see Brooke. And if she sees Brooke, she’ll want Brooke. And if she wants Brooke when she can’t have her, it will only rip the wound open again, just when she finally stemmed the bleeding. The dull ache in her chest will become a stabbing pain like it was on the mountain, and Vanessa doesn’t know if she’ll manage this time. She can’t go, can’t see Brooke in her purple dress, eyes shining with passion. It’s easier to stay away, try to forget that face. A clean break to get over Brooke. That’s the best thing Vanessa can do. </p><p>She flicks through channels and swears after coming across <i>Jurassic Park</i> three separate times. Are there no other 90’s franchises TV stations can air on a Saturday night? She finds some cooking show, and that’ll do. Nothing romantic about it. </p><p>She hasn’t touched her dating apps since she started this thing with Brooke, not wanting to be seen by a co-worker when she’s ‘married’. But now she can, and maybe this will help. Flooding her brain with people who aren’t Brooke. She can find someone else, prove she doesn’t need Brooke. The very first person she sees is a pretty redhead named Kameron. But as Vanessa looks closer, her cheekbones are a little too like Brooke’s. So is her smile, and maybe even her nose--Vanessa closes the app and hurls her phone into a couch cushion. What kind of bullshit is this? She can’t escape Brooke, no matter how much she tries. She just hopes the universe is haunting Brooke like this too. If this was a rom-com, it would be some sign that they’re meant to be together. But Vanessa is <i>sick</i> of stupid rom-coms. There’s no fated romance here, no ma’am.</p><p>Her phone suddenly buzzes, and buzzes again, meaning it’s a call. Vanessa peeks at the screen. <i>Speak of the devil.</i> </p><p>What could Brooke be calling her for? The exhibit opening is in an hour, and knowing Brooke, she’s probably already at the museum, double-checking the seats and refreshments, reviewing her speech like she doesn’t have it memorized. If she can picture what Brooke is doing, she knows she’s not over her, but Vanessa doesn’t care. </p><p>She watches the phone ring and ring, wondering what will happen if she picks up. Will Brooke apologize on the other end? Will Vanessa believe her, fall deeper in love with her, will they start anew? Or will Vanessa reject her apologies and move on the way she should, keep trying to forget Brooke?</p><p>Or she could just not answer. Avoid either possibility and not give Brooke a voice at all. </p><p>The phone gives one last ring.</p><p>Vanessa doesn’t answer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: After realizing her feelings, Brooke calls Vanessa, but she doesn’t answer<br/>Now: Their happy ending</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last chapter is here! Thank you all so much to everyone that has read along with this one! Your support has meant so much to me and the comments I’ve gotten really mean a lot. I’d love to hear what you think about the end! Thank you so, so, so much to Writ. I couldn’t have done this without you and I appreciate you so much, you’re the best. I’m really gonna miss this one. Thank you all for sharing it with me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Pick up,” Brooke begs, pacing her office, “Pick up, please.”</p><p>This call is her last chance to fix things, and each ring that Vanessa doesn’t answer makes Brooke’s stomach clench tighter, like a giant fist is squeezing her. There’s plenty of reasons Vanessa might not answer. She could be busy, or have her phone on silent. But Brooke can’t stop thinking Vanessa is ignoring her purposely, ignoring the apology and feelings Brooke is so desperate to share. </p><p>The call goes to voicemail, that robotic voice telling her to leave her message after the beep, and Brooke falters. She had planned on Vanessa answering, having something to go off. Even just knowing Vanessa was listening on the other end would have been a comfort, rather than sending her words into empty space. But it’s just her now, and even if Vanessa never listens to this, Brooke has to try. </p><p>She takes a breath, adjusts her sweaty grip on the phone. “Hey, Vanessa, it’s me. Brooke. Um, I know things aren’t great with us right now and you have every right to hate me, but the exhibit opens tonight and it...it would mean a lot to have you here. If you want to.” Brooke sighs. This isn’t enough, she knows it, and it’s her only shot. “Vanessa, I--I’ve been thinking. And I know I panicked when you tried to kiss me, but I was just scared, and now I know I shouldn’t have been. I’m so sorry I hurt you.  I...I love you, Vanessa. I hope I can see you tonight. Bye.”</p><p>She numbly pulls the phone from her ear and ends the message. That’s it. It’s done now, in Vanessa’s hands. Brooke should feel relieved, but she just feels sick. Though the prospect of public speaking could be what’s tying her stomach in knots. It’s always like this when she presents, her muscles tight with terror of making a fool of herself in front of people, mind racing with ways they’ll judge her. But she’s talking about something she loves, something she knows better than anything, and once she gets out there and starts, her passionate bravado will take over. It’s the getting out there that’s the hard part. </p><p>She leaves the warm safety of her office and heads out into the museum. Everything looks perfect, just how she imagined it. There’s a huge dinosaur banner streaming across the auditorium entrance and folding tables outside, bearing punch and water and cookies and the giant cake with a T-Rex piped in dark green frosting on the top. Hundreds of people--she’s reached the turnout she wanted, and her funding should be secure--mill about, whispering in front of the velvet cloth covering the T-Rex skull, wondering about the fierce predator underneath. </p><p>“How’re you doing, Brooke?” There’s Nina, and Brooke’s chest loosens a little. At least she has Nina. Her parents are coming, and her sister’s bringing the kids, and it’s enough to have them, even if Vanessa is missing. Brooke can pretend, at least. </p><p>“Okay,” she says. “A lot better than when I had to practice speeches on you for that public speaking class in college.” </p><p>Nina smiles, gives a fake shudder. “Lord, don’t remind me. That professor really made you do a speech on gas prices that I had to listen to with my own ears.” </p><p>Brooke grins back, some of her nerves melting away, though it doesn’t last for long when Nina’s face falls serious again and her voice drops.</p><p>“And the Vanessa situation?” </p><p>“Working on it,” Brooke says. Brooke filled her in on everything, and it calms her to know Nina is behind her all the way, that she has a friend to help her out. “Um, can you let me know if you see her?”</p><p>“Of course.” Nina pats Brooke’s arm, looks at her warmly, and Brooke rounds through the lobby, putting on her professional business Brooke persona and talking to donors and board members, their praise making her flush with pride. She really did it, and she won’t have to fire anyone or scrape for funding. She keeps going until it’s five minutes to her speech and everyone is inside. Nina comes over to her, and Brooke knows the answer from her face, but she asks anyway. </p><p>“She’s not here, is she?” </p><p>Nina bites her lip and pulls Brooke into a hug instead of answering. </p><p>“I’m sorry, honey.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Brooke chokes out, but everything is falling apart around her. She wants to say it’s a mistake, that Nina just missed Vanessa and she’s down in the front row, but she knows Nina’s right. Vanessa’s not here, which means Brooke’s grand romantic plan won’t work. She blew it, and Vanessa is gone for good. Her vision is turning blurry. She forces the tears back in. Maybe Vanessa didn’t listen to the message yet, or maybe she needs more time. <i>Or maybe she hates you</i>, a dark voice mocks in Brooke's mind. <i>Maybe she erased your message</i>. Brooke can’t even blame her for that.</p><p>“Brooke, I know you wanted her to be here, but don’t let this ruin things for you. This is a big night and you’ve worked so hard for it.”</p><p>Brooke nods, not wanting to hear her voice crack. How can she give her speech when she can’t even manage words? </p><p>“You’re gonna be amazing out there.” Nina’s hands are steady on Brooke’s shoulders as she offers encouragement, and Brooke breathes with her, nodding when she’s okay. </p><p>“I’m good,” Brooke insists. She adjusts her shoulders and stands up straight. “I’ll see you after.”</p><p>Nina nods. “Good luck.”</p><p>Brooke heads to the auditorium stage, cringing until she adjusts to the spotlights. She wishes she could look into the crowd and see Vanessa’s face to anchor her, just to know she’s there. But she sees her parents, and it has to be enough. The place is packed, not a seat open, and new tears spring in Brooke’s eyes. All through high school she was told that going into paleontology was a waste, that she should pick a field with more secure jobs. A field people actually care about. Tonight, the hundreds of expectant faces before her prove that people do care, that her passion isn’t a waste. </p><p>She takes the podium from the museum director, hesitating a split-second over abandoning her opening joke <i>(What do you call a dinosaur that’s a loud sleeper?)</i>. She ran all her options by Vanessa and went with Vanessa’s favorite, and it’s almost too painful to do it, Vanessa’s laugh echoing in her ears. But she nails the pun <i>(A tyranno</i>-snore-<i>us)</i> and the erupting laughter tells her it was the right choice. </p><p>Brooke waits for the laughs to die down, takes a breath, and begins her speech. </p><p>---</p><p>Vanessa loses track of how many times she’s heard the word ‘Flavortown’ tonight when the phone rings again. It’s Brooke, and Vanessa’s heart skips a beat. She reminds herself she’s angry, but her resolve is wavering, worn thin by hours of sitting here, trying not to think of the exhibit she was missing, or the new voicemail burning a hole in her phone. </p><p>What’s the harm in answering? Maybe she <i>should</i> answer, give Brooke a piece of her mind. One last telling-off to really end things and help her move on. She accepts the call before she can keep arguing with herself. </p><p>“What do you want?” She has to stay strong, can’t give an inch here. </p><p>She hears Brooke breathe on the other end. “I missed you at the exhibit.”</p><p>“Why would I go? I don’t owe you anything.” A clean break, Vanessa reminds herself. She needs to move on. She can’t get hurt again.</p><p>“I know. I just...I wanted you there. I miss you.” Brooke’s hurt, Vanessa hears it in her voice. Hurt in a way Vanessa’s never heard before, hurt in a way she imagined Brooke was as a kid, left out of games with the other kids. She shouldn’t care that Brooke is this upset, but she does. </p><p>Because she misses Brooke too, has missed her all week even through her anger. She missed being able to text Brooke and tell her about the mysterious pacifier that appeared on the library carpet and disappeared overnight. She missed setting up weekend plans with Brooke, searching for fun things they could do. She missed Brooke’s smile and her snort-laugh. </p><p>“Did it go okay?” Vanessa asks. That coldness she started with is rapidly thawing and she can’t keep it up when Brooke sounds so sad, so lonely. The memories are rushing in no matter how hard she fights, and she can’t be this mean to the woman who brought her coffee and tried so hard to win her a stupid stuffed animal. </p><p>“Yeah. It was great.” There’s an awkward pause, and Vanessa detects something Brooke is hesitant to say. </p><p>“What else?” Vanessa prompts. </p><p>“Um, I got an award,” Brooke says quietly. “It’s from the state, for kids’ programs I did. It was a surprise.” </p><p>“Shit, I—I’m sorry I missed it.” She really is sorry, the burst of regret running through her. She can imagine how happy Brooke was, how much it meant to her, and she’ll never be able to do anything but imagine. Because she wasn’t there for Brooke. Something so important to someone that was (is?) so important to her, and she wasn’t there. </p><p>“It’s fine.” The defeat in Brooke’s voice jumps through the phone, and Vanessa can practically see her shoulders slump. “Like you said, you don’t owe me anything.”</p><p>Vanessa bites her lip, fighting the dampness that pools in her eyes. She hates being mean like this, hates knowing she hurt Brooke, even if Brooke hurt her first and has it coming. But what can she do? It would be stupid to try a relationship again, hurt her heart once more. “Brooke, I--”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Brooke repeats. “I, um, I left you a voicemail. I don’t know if you’ve listened to it, but if you want to…” </p><p>“I haven’t yet,” Vanessa admits. She shouldn’t listen to it. She knows she shouldn’t. Brooke doesn’t love her, so what could she have said? It’ll only make Vanessa hurt worse. But why does she want to end the call this second and listen to it? “I...I gotta go, okay?”</p><p>She hangs up before Brooke can say anything else, then switches to voicemail, her heart pounding. The little red notification glares at her, judging her for leaving the message unheard.</p><p>She presses play, and Brooke’s voice makes her heart swell.</p><p>
  <i>“Hey, Vanessa, it’s me. Brooke.”</i>
</p><p><i>That dork</i>, Vanessa thinks fondly. Only Brooke would introduce herself on a voicemail with her name and number linked to it. Never mind that Vanessa would know that voice anywhere. </p><p>
  <i>“Um, I know things aren’t great with us right now and you have every right to hate me, but the exhibit opening is tonight and it...it would mean a lot to have you there. If you want to.” </i>
</p><p>Shit. Vanessa’s supposed to stay strong, not let this bother her, but she can’t be that mean. Brooke had called her practically begging her to go, to share this with her, and Vanessa wasn’t there. Brooke went to that stupid carnival for her, and she missed one of the biggest nights of Brooke’s career to sit home and sulk. Tears prickle in her eyes and she frantically blinks them away as voicemail-Brooke sighs before continuing her message. </p><p>
  <i>“Vanessa, I--I’ve been thinking. And I know I panicked when you tried to kiss me, but I was just scared, and now I know I shouldn’t have been. I’m so sorry I hurt you.  I…I love you, Vanessa. I hope I can see you tonight. Bye.”</i>
</p><p>Vanessa’s shoulders heave with sobs, the phone slipping from her shaky hands and tumbling to the carpet. Brooke loves her. Brooke <i>loves</i> her, and Vanessa can’t stop crying. If only she had answered the damn phone. She could’ve gone to the museum. They could’ve talked it out. She could be in Brooke’s arms now. </p><p>What if she’s ruined everything? Brooke was heartbroken on the phone, and what if missing the exhibit made Brooke so upset she’s given up on Vanessa, given up on them? The thought of losing Brooke again, after coming so close, all because of an unanswered call, makes her boil with anger over her own stubbornness. </p><p>But can Vanessa trust her? Brooke went from terror over a kiss to loving her. What if next week she just wants to be friends again, says her feelings are a mistake? But she called and apologized, told Vanessa how she feels even when it must have terrified her, and there’s no denying the honesty in her voice. Brooke really loves her. Maybe she did just need time, like A’keria said. </p><p>Even as she tries to think things out, Vanessa’s heart knows the answer. She wants to be with Brooke more than anything. She wants to make a mess cooking with her every night, and go on picnics on the weekends, and stare up at the stars together. She wants to fall into bed with Brooke and sleep curled around her. She wants to see Brooke every day, to celebrate the good with her and comfort her through the bad. She loves Brooke and every bit of her dinosaur-loving, over-cautious, soft-hearted self. She loves Brooke, part and whole. </p><p><i>I hope I can see you tonight</i>, Brooke had said. </p><p>Vanessa’s heart kicks into overdrive, her mind buzzing. It’s not too late. She can still see Brooke tonight. She needs a plan, she needs--she scrambles around the apartment, trading her dog pajamas for the gold dress she meant to wear tonight, fixing her hair. The museum gift shop is closed, but Target should have what she needs. She can do this. </p><p>A’keria comes out of her room, no doubt bothered by the noise Vanessa’s making. </p><p>“What the hell? Sounds like a herd of elephants out here…” Her gaze turns to Vanessa, and she smiles. “Go get your girl, V.”</p><p>Vanessa will.</p><p>---</p><p>Brooke’s parents insist on taking her to dinner, and she sits at the table and listens to them talk about how happy they are for her, how great things went. </p><p>Brooke should be happy. She <i>is</i> happy. She’s here with her family, and the exhibit went even better than she planned. The glass award she won is in the car, safely wrapped up in her old red hoodie, and she even got to bask in the sour-lemon expression on Greg’s face when the board chose him to present it to her. Tonight was everything she dreamed of and more, and she accomplished everything she wanted. </p><p>So why does it feel like something’s missing?</p><p>Or maybe it’s some<i>one</i>. </p><p>They’re at a table for four, and that single empty chair is staring at Brooke, its worn vinyl mocking her. She can’t help but picture Vanessa in it, making them all laugh. </p><p>There’s a platter of golden mozzarella sticks in front of Brooke, but they don’t taste as good as they should. The adrenaline and excitement from the night are vanishing, and she feels drained. Hollow, even. If she wasn’t here with her parents she’d go home and crawl into bed. What’s the point of all this if she doesn’t have someone special to share it with?</p><p>Being single has never bothered her. She celebrated internships and new jobs at dinners with her parents and at bars with Nina. She’s had occasional girlfriends, none that happened to be there for any major milestones. And she was fine with it. She didn’t need someone else to be happy, or have value, or say her accomplishments meant something. But she looks around the restaurant, sees couples upon couples at tables for two, holding hands and talking and splitting food, and it hurts. Hurts to see them happy with each other, having someone that would hopefully always be there. </p><p>She doesn’t <i>need</i> another person to live, but she wants one. Wants someone who’d be there for her whether she was happy or sick or sad. Someone she’d be there for in return. Someone who’d let her have alone time, but never let her be lonely again. Someone who would always love her, who she’d share these things with. But she ruined her chance.  </p><p>Her brave face stays on until she’s back home, pulling into an empty parking spot, and she’s suddenly wracked with sobs, her whole body shaking. She’s in her empty car, with her empty self, and she’ll go into her empty apartment. And it will never change. </p><p>She’ll never have anyone like Vanessa. Vanessa is once in a lifetime, every romantic cliche come to life. But it’s true. Brooke will never find someone like her, someone who makes her happy just by existing, who understands her. Who loves--<i>loved</i>--her. But Brooke had pulled away when Vanessa put her heart on the line, and maybe she deserves to be lonely forever after what she did. Vanessa will move on, probably. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to love her? She could already have someone new, already be moving on. </p><p>Jealousy burns in Brooke’s stomach as she moves up the stairs with a head full of images of someone else getting to see Vanessa’s smile, and it’s worse than the emptiness. Being numb was better, to not feel the sadness inside, to not hurt from loneliness. </p><p>She turns the corner--</p><p>It can’t be. </p><p>It just can’t be. </p><p>Brooke rubs at her eyes and even pinches her arm. This is a dream, it must be a dream. </p><p>“About time!” A raspy voice booms, and that voice is straight from Brooke’s dreams. “I look like a murderer standing out here!”</p><p>Heels click on the floor, and Brooke realizes she’s running. She’s running to her apartment and opening her arms as Vanessa burrows into them, burrows into that hole in Brooke’s heart and makes it complete again. </p><p>“Vanessa, you—,” Brooke can’t form a sentence. </p><p>Vanessa looks up at her, eyes glistening with tears. </p><p>“We need to talk,” she says gently. </p><p>---<br/>
<br/>
Brooke is still pinching herself as Vanessa sets bags on the couch. </p><p>Vanessa is here in the glittery gold dress they had picked out together, one Brooke didn’t think she’d see her in again. She’s here and Brooke doesn’t know if it’s because her feelings have changed, but she’s never been so beautiful. </p><p>The silence fills the whole living room, she and Vanessa staring at each other from their positions on the couch. As much as she’d like to just hug and kiss Vanessa, ignore what happened, Brooke knows they have to talk. She wipes sweaty hands on her thighs. </p><p>Vanessa clears her throat. “Brooke--”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Brooke blurts. “Vanessa, I’m so sorry for what I did.”</p><p>Vanessa bites her lip. “Do you wanna talk about what happened? ‘Cause you panicked before and now you’re saying you’ve changed.” Vanessa’s not angry, just a little cautious. Brooke supposes it’s fair. Vanessa doesn’t want to take a chance and get hurt again. </p><p>“I…” Brooke takes a breath. “When you tried to kiss me, I panicked. We were just friends. I thought it would do more harm than good to kiss you. Because then things would change, and I didn’t want them to. I liked being your friend, and I didn’t think it was fair to lead you on if we were just friends.” </p><p>Vanessa nods. “Brooke, I...I realized I loved you after we stayed at your parents’. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but then I just <i>had</i> to, and you didn’t react how I wanted.” She smiles sadly. “But I understand where you’re coming from. And I should've talked about it before I tried to make out with you.”</p><p>Brooke gives Vanessa a shy smile. “It took me some time,” she admits. “I talked to my mom, and I realized I like you as more than a friend. I love you, Vanessa.” </p><p>Even though she said it on the phone, it’s different to say it now, with Vanessa’s wide eyes taking her in, her hand reaching over. Brooke squeezes it with her own, takes in Vanessa’s hands and how special they are, from the paper cut on one finger likely from a craft, to the shiny red nails and soft palms. Holding Vanessa’s hand shouldn’t be a big deal, but it feels more intimate than a kiss, like she’s holding a piece of Vanessa. Brooke’s heart warms that Vanessa trusts her with this piece after everything, and she holds on tight. </p><p>“I love you too, Brooke.” Vanessa’s eyes sober a second. “But are you sure about this? I...I kinda need to make sure you’re in this all the way. I don’t want to push you, and I don’t want to get hurt again.” </p><p>Brooke breathes slowly. “The truth is, I haven’t been in a real relationship for a while. I’ve never had anything too serious, either. It’s a little scary to me,” she says quietly. “But I want to. With you. I really do. And I promise I won’t hurt you again.”</p><p>“I won’t ever hurt you either,” Vanessa says, ringing with sincerity. “It doesn’t have to be scary. We’ll have each other.” </p><p>The thought gives Brooke a rush of courage, enough to keep going. “Would you be okay with things being really slow?”</p><p>Vanessa isn’t someone who questions her feelings. She’s someone who knows relationships, knows love. Brooke doesn’t want to ruin that for her with her own fear of things moving too fast, her uncertainty at navigating a serious relationship.  </p><p>Vanessa nods firmly. “We can go as slow as you want, okay? Especially after this fake dating shit, I think going slow is exactly what we need.”</p><p>Brooke smiles hopefully. “Maybe we could start with a real date?”</p><p>Vanessa grins. “You got it. How about a little make-up for tonight?” She pauses, creeps in closer toward Brooke. Suddenly, her lips rest on Brooke’s cheek, and Brooke’s whole face burns. Vanessa’s kiss is delicate, like she’s afraid to hurt Brooke, and she pulls away quickly, eyes frightened. </p><p>“Brooke, was that okay?” </p><p>Brooke doesn’t answer, but puts her lips on Vanessa’s. It’s not their first kiss, but it’s the first one that’s <i>real</i>; the first one that’s just them, no acting. Brooke opens her eyes a second and sees Vanessa’s eyes fluttering as she melts under the kiss. Brooke’s heart races in her chest and Vanessa’s breath is similarly hitched. The living room lights hit Vanessa perfectly, and forget seeing her in the dress—<i>this</i> is the most beautiful Vanessa has ever looked, blissful and dreamy. Brooke lets her hands cup Vanessa’s cheeks, feels that they’re just as hot as her own, and she waits for Vanessa to pull away first, because Brooke won’t back out of a kiss with Vanessa ever again. </p><p>“Definitely okay,” Brooke says. She leans back on the couch and jostles the bags, making Vanessa leap up and grab them. </p><p>“I almost forgot! These are for you.” </p><p>Brooke takes the items and stifles a laugh. A stuffed T-Rex, a tiny model rocket ship, and two cupcakes with astronaut food sprinkled on top. A childhood museum gift shop-raid come to life. She throws a hand over her mouth, certain she’ll cry. </p><p>“Vanessa, I love them. Thank you so much.”</p><p>Vanessa smiles, but she seems sad. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there for your award. I was just upset, and I didn’t want to go and keep falling in love with you. But I should’ve been there.” </p><p>Brooke takes Vanessa’s hands again, running her thumb over her skin. “It’s okay. I understand. And Nina filmed everything like a dance mom at her child’s recital, so you can watch the video.” She takes a breath, takes a chance. “You know, I had this big treasure hunt planned for if you came.”</p><p>Vanessa’s eyes widen. “You didn’t!”</p><p>“I did. I was gonna send you through the museum and be waiting for you at the end.” She still wishes she could have done it, a big gesture from the movies Vanessa loves so much. But things have worked out, and Brooke wouldn’t change a thing. Vanessa is here next to her, and that’s all that matters. Besides, the map is still safe in her purse, and maybe someday she’ll need it.   </p><p>Vanessa swats her. “Well, now I want a treasure hunt!” Her pout tries to look angry, but it just makes her even cuter. </p><p>Brooke grins. “I’ll save it. After all, we’re gonna need date ideas.”</p><p>Vanessa smiles back. “Yeah, we are. Let’s see, there’s a movie in the park next weekend, and a new exhibit at the art museum, and maybe we can get a reservation at that Italian place--” </p><p>“Slow down!” Brooke giggles. “We have plenty of time for all of it, okay?”</p><p>“We do,” Vanessa agrees. “Tonight, I want to eat these cupcakes and hear all about your speech.” She reaches to the cupcakes and hands Brooke the vanilla one, taking the red velvet for herself. She wipes away the frosting Brooke gets on her nose, and Brooke warms under the touch. </p><p>“Well, the joke was a big hit--”</p><p>“--I told you!” Vanessa yells. </p><p>She nestles against Brooke, a perfect fit, and Brooke knows this is what love feels like. </p><p>---</p><p>“Are you sure your family will like me?” Brooke picks at her sweater cuff, and Vanessa won’t let her be nervous. </p><p>She strokes Brooke’s arm, heart swelling when Brooke stills instantly at her touch. “They’re gonna love you. Promise.” </p><p>Brooke nods, swaying along to the radio as Vanessa drives. It’s the same playlist Vanessa made for their first trip together, and she knows Brooke is lost in the memories like she is. </p><p>Memories of the pumpkin patch they visited last month, when they stuffed themselves with cider donuts and got stuck in the corn maze for an hour before finally escaping in fits of laughter. Memories of their Halloween together, with Vanessa as Evelyn and Brooke as Rick from <i>The Mummy</i>, with lots of candy and kisses. (Brooke’s already working on their <i>Jurassic Park</i> costumes for next year). Even the memory of when Vanessa helped Brooke make an apple pie, their buttery hands brushing as they rolled out dough, making such a mess with the flour that Apollo was more white than gray. </p><p>It’s been three months of pure joy, of dates and dinners and conversations where Vanessa’s gotten to know Brooke all over again. They’ve had movie marathons and make out sessions and played games through grocery store aisles, and every time Vanessa looks at Brooke, she can’t believe how lucky she is. Can’t believe they’re together, after all the twists and turns to get here. </p><p>She peeks over at Brooke, in the green sweater that matches her eyes, a hopeful smile on her face, and Vanessa knows she wouldn’t change a thing about their relationship. </p><p>Vanessa pulls into her parents’ driveway and takes Brooke’s hand. “You good?” </p><p>Brooke’s a little pale, but she smiles. “I’m good.” </p><p>“Let’s do it.” Vanessa leads her up the driveway, and she can’t believe this is finally happening. After fantasizing about this for so long, thinking it would never happen, she’s bringing Brooke home to her family, letting Brooke meet the people who mean so much to her. It’s one of many firsts they’re sure to have, and Vanessa’s heart swells every time she thinks of what their future holds. And maybe, just maybe, that treasure hunt proposal is in the future some day. But for now, she has Brooke, and she doesn’t need anything else. </p><p>“Vanessa!” Vanessa is in a bone-crushing hug with her mother before she can prepare for it, squeezing back just as tight. Her mom only pulls away when Vanessa moans about suffocation. Her mom turns to Brooke, and Vanessa watches Brooke tense at first, then loosen. </p><p>“Mrs. Mateo, I’m—“</p><p>“You’re Brooke!” </p><p>Vanessa’s mom wraps Brooke in a squeeze even tighter than the one she gave Vanessa. </p><p>“All right, Mom, you’re gonna crush my woman!” Vanessa laughs, rubbing Brooke’s back when she’s released. Brooke’s smile overtakes her whole face, like she didn’t mind being squashed. Like she’s truly happy to be here, loving this glimpse of Vanessa’s family. </p><p>“She can handle a big hug from me. I can tell.” Vanessa’s mom winks at Brooke, and Brooke’s cheeks turn soft pink. “And call me Annabelle, none of that Mrs. Mateo nonsense.” </p><p>Brooke grins. “Of course.” </p><p>They follow her mom in and there’s Vanessa’s dad and brother, and her nieces screaming while her nephew runs around, and Vanessa doesn’t have to worry about Brooke getting scared and running away. Because Brooke knows these parts of her and loves her for them. </p><p>“This is Brooke, everyone.” Vanessa does the introductions, watching her family take Brooke in with wide eyes. </p><p>“Now, how did you two get together again?” Her mom asks. </p><p>Vanessa smirks as Brooke lets out a snort. They lock eyes and erupt into laughter, laughter tinged with disbelief of what happened yet all the certainty that it’s real, that their <i>love</i> is real, and always will be. </p><p>“It’s a <i>long</i> story.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all again for sharing this with me! I hope it could make you happy! </p><p>Might be a bit before I have something new out, but stay tuned!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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